


Cookie Jar

by bexacaust



Category: Sins Of The Wreckers (Transformers), The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-31 17:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 101
Words: 36,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6480106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Minifics and Askdrabbles from Tumblr!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. School of Hard Knocks

It had been another long, rough day in a series of long and rough days. Drift’s optics flickered out of time, and he started leaning to the side.

“Drift!”

He jerked back up straight to Perceptor’s grumbles, “Yep, yeah, ‘m here.”

“I said stay awake. You have a severe concussion.”, said Perceptor moodily.

Drift looked at him with a weak snorted laugh, “Percy, you really can’t lecture me with exposed wiring sparking and a busted optic scope.”

“I can, I will, and I’ll make that concussion a bit worse if you do not listen to me- BLURR, SIT DOWN.”

The guilty Wrecker froze, slinking back to the medberth he had snuck off of and sitting down innocently. When Perceptor was in one of his moods, it was best to just do as he ordered…

And given the mech had spent the better part of the night patching everyone but himself up, now is a good time to just listen.

Drift sighed as Perceptor worked on him, wincing every so often. Perceptor would occasionally flit away to check the patchwork jobs done on other Wreckers before dismissing them from the dimming lab until it was merely the pair of them.

Drift smiled at the scientist turned medic, “Am I gonna live, doc?”

Perceptor rolled his optic, frowning, “Only on the condition that you never, EVER run into the line of fire like that again. If I hadn’t seen you, if I hadn’t noticed you careening off you could have had a hole through your processor; one I COULDN’T fix.”

“But you did see me, and all I got was a bad concussion and some cracked plating.”

“Don’t forget the snapped struts in your legs, the damaged wrist joints; and the busted servos.”

Drift gave him a look.

Perceptor stared right back before leaning down to carefully kiss the white-armored mech. Drift jumped a little in surprise, but settled into the contact with ease. 

Perceptor pulled away, honest concern on his face, “Promise me you’ll be more careful; as careful as you can be, anyway.”

“I promise… Now, can I take a nap yet?”

“Drift I said stay awake. I will let you know when you can sleep.”

“Uuuuugh, pleeeeeease?”

“DRIFT.”

Drift snickered at Perceptor’s exasperation; the tone mismatched with the smile on the scientist’s face.


	2. Speedmetal and Gunfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Megatron and Drift fighting side by side in the field, just havin' a good time whooping aft?

Megatron whirled as the clang of snapping swordblades rang out, and saw Drift drop back with quick steps.

Megatron bared his fanged denta in a snarl; and then Drift surprised him into breaking the angry expression.

**“NOW WE’RE TALKIN’!”**

Megatron bellowed a vicious laugh as Drift wielded a heavy rifle once again.

“What happened to the Way of the Sword?”, he called out to the white mech.

The answering smirk filled his spark with pride as Drift hollered back at him, “Judging by the two that snapped, its lookin’ miiiiiighty sketchy! Focus warframe, don’t make me have to save your aft!”

The keening laughter of Rodimus sounded out and even Perceptor cracked a grin as the battle raged on. Drift jeered and taunted with the best of them, supplemented by the growls and howls of mechs dying and surviving in equal measure.

They ended up back to back once again, the first time in a long time, bracing each other under heavy fire until the Lost Light crew were the last men standing tall.

Rodimus was perched on Magnus’s shoulders, whooping in victory as Perceptor stood with a cocked hip and a cockier smirk. Whirl hacked and cackled as Cyclonus shook his helm to hide his grin.

Drift nudged Megatron, “Still got the moves, old mech.”

“Of course I do; I taught YOUR stubborn aft, didn’t I?”, laughed the ex-Warlord, his hand on Drift’s helm like one would ruffle a younger kid’s hair. Finials flicked as Drift play-shoved the elder Cybertronian before moving off to stand nearer to Perceptor.

The medbay was full that evening, but Ratchet couldn’t help the slip of a relieved smile as Drift relaxed on one of the waiting benches, back against Megatron’s arm like a lounging thief in his den.

There was healing again, and not just of the physical sort.

“WHIRL PUT THAT FRAGGING CONTRAPTION AWAY OR IT’S GOIN’ WHERE NO SUN CAN SHINE, Y’HEAR ME?!”

“Primus, Hatchet, no need to shout off my poor audial, I ONLY GOT ONE!”


	3. Brave Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "It's nothing, I'm totally fine." with Tailgate & Cyclonus?

“It’s n-nothing! I’m totally fine.”, said Tailgate weakly, legs twitching without him wanting them too. 

Cyclonus continued to pet his helm, humming low in his chest as he all but curled over the minibot; surrounded by gunfire and battle cries.

“I warned, I told you not to come out here, little one.”, he breathed, worry making him gently scold as his spark clenched in the fear the smaller mech’s spirit would flit away at the slightest raise of a voice.

“I’m fine Cyclonus.”, said Tailgate firmly, hacking hard and trying to hide the tiny bubble of energon from behind his mask. He winced, the singed shot to his side twinging painfully. The semicircle burned into his figure leaked sluggishly, smelling of fried circuitry and burnt metal.

And the Ratchet was there, bundling him gently into strong medics arms and quietly assuring the royal-hued warrior that Tailgate was in good hands, safe hands.

“He’s in my hands now; he’ll be there when you come back, y’hear me?”

Cyclonus nodded as Ratchet left his sight, hurrying with the too-precious bundle in his arms; the minibot who shuttered his optics tight and willed himself not to shriek when the jar of heavy steps made his wound throb angrily.

Cyclonus turned, feeling the ping of a stray shot hit his armor plating. He looked at the scuff, then lifted his eyes.

With a snarl more beast than mech in origin, he flung himself into the fray to unleash hell as only a dead-mech-walking can.

_Messily._


	4. Facets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: I scream, you scream, we all scream for Starscream!

Starscream stood at attention in command briefings. He was attentive, if opinionated during strategic discussion and he dished out orders rapid fire with the expectation they were carried out immediately.

In private, he was scholarly, easily excited, and overimaginative.

In battle, he was a menace.

In battle, he was high pitched laughter and bared fangs; he was wild red optics with no focus and wings slicing thermals like swordblades. In battle, he animalistic hisses and snarls and shots fired at nonfatal points so he could enjoy the screams of pain and suffering.

He was heelthrusters coated in slick energon, he was armor plating flecked in sheared steel. He was a helm scuffed by bullets and he was a howled laugh that echoed in sparks and processors before he launched forth at a run to be followed by his trinemates in perfect tandem.

He held whirlwinds by their tails and wielded them like a lion tamers whip; he was the smile of a hungry god.

Where Megatron was the Terror of Kaon; Starscream was his wicked familar with a silver tongue and a hunger for innocence. Where Megatron was the Warlord of Decepticons, his Seekers were his sentient weapons.

Where Megatron was the name whispered in fear, Starscream was the one howled at a war-torched sky as he flew like a plague-crow.

Megatron was cursed with final breaths.

His Air Commander was cursed with agonized screams.


	5. Parallel Lines Will Never Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Not really a pairing but... How about 15 with the Trine?

_And we are the ones that want to **choose** ,_  
 _Always want to **play** ,_  
 _But you never want to **lose**._

Three points on a map covered in pinholes; lined in clawmarks.

A bolt hole, tickmarks scratched on the walls and the remains of scavenged meals.

A cell with promises and prayers scattered by the lone window in homemade ink.

Three sets of wings, unable to raise.

A Commander lost; Wandering halls and checking the shadowy spaces a thousand times for glimpses of violet or blue. His spark no longer feels like it sinks when he sees nothing but mocking emptiness. He figures its because it shattered long ago when he awoke alone in a cold grey morning. ‘When will you come home?’ he asks no one, and recieves no answer bu the static silence

A prankster, deadened. He scans the horizon every morning and every night; hoping to  see a graceful arc and be welcomed by white arms and loving scolds; maybe blue ones and a laugh like a distant stormcell. ‘Do you miss me?’ he asks the thermals, hoping they’ll carry his message like those currents carried he and his once.  He holds himself and tries not to remember warmth and safety as he retreats to survive one more night on his own.

A playwright, disillusioned. He sits ramrod straight and offlines his optics during interrogations and waits in the dark for the sun he can sense from memory. He looks at the lone, high window and sees pieces of clouds and sky and aether and mourns in silence. ‘What did we do wrong?’, he grieves in his processor, hugging his knee as his wings ache to stretch against gentle and familiar touches. He wonders if maybe he has died, and this is what hell is.

Emptiness.

Three stories, three ticking timelines run parallel to each other. They began this story perpendicular; and now had been rearranged.

Parallel lines will never meet no matter how far into infinity they stretch.


	6. Relaxation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "You enjoying the view over there?" with Driftceptor??

Perceptor had his moments of laziness; and most of those moments involved the science fiction novels he hoarded like a dragon hoards gold.

Tonight was one such night. Drift had commed him saying he’d be late returning, and Perceptor dug out a datapad filled with Dune; a human series, a saga really, and one of his personal favorites.

The sniper powered down his optic scope, removing the crosshair’d cover and the false optic lens so he could fully remove the apparatus. Placing an adhesive patch over the empty optic canal, he dropped onto the berth with a sigh and stretched like a tired lion.

He held the datapad in one hand, gnawing on a rust stick now as he rested his helm on a folded arm.

He crossed his legs at the ankles, and surrendered to the pull of the novel. His movements were limited to flicks of his servos over the datapad screen and reaching for another rust stick.

The door hissed open, and he glanced to the side with a soft, “H’lo Drift.”

Drift nodded his greeting, swallowing hard.

A late-running shift of hearing complaint after complaint suddenly seemed a thousand years away as he stared. Perceptor was relaxed, his lean frame stretched out like art and Drift was rooted to the spot. He looked from the idle movement of the rust stick between Perceptor’s lipplates, down over a broad chest, and unfortunately decided to focus on a trim waist.

And, against his will, Drift let off the smallest hungry whine.

“Enjoying the view?”, snickered Perceptor, grinning wickedly around his candy.

“You’re so cruel.”, sighed Drift, finally moving so that the door could slide shut behind him, “Terribly unfair. Wicked temptation of a poor pure soul.”

“A poor pure soul indeed.”, crooned Perceptor, setting the datapad aside, “Come here and let me tempt your less-than-saintly tendencies a little more, hm?”

Drift agreed readily.


	7. Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 'You like that, don't you?' and Prowlceptor, if you could?

_I can be your metal **rebel**_   
_Bite me off a **devil’s** tongue_   
_Tie me up with rope or **leather**_   
_**Never** let me come undone_

Prowl snarled as he almost bounced off the wall. But Perceptor was already there, kissing him hard, kissing him like he was trying to take his soul from him and the Praxian moaned like a cheap date and dug the tips of servos into reinforced plating. The scrabbling of his digits peeled paint in chips like eroding gravestones as Prowl tilted his helm to slot their mouths together easier.

He groaned again as Perceptor broke the kiss to lift Prowl by his thighs and press too-close-not-close-enough. 

Prowl hissed as Perceptor chuckled in that wicked, low way he had now. He was no longer the soft-spoken scientist with quick hands and clicking steps; now he was a killer, a Wrecker, a master with intimate knowledge of a mech’s inner workings and the drive to exploit them if he had to.

This was a beast in armor plating and Prowl had helped create it, and Primus be DAMNED if he would submit to it. He was PROWL, the Tactician of the autobots, the mind behind the Prime-

But oh it was hard to keep up his calculating, domineering act when Perceptor knew just what cables to pinch and tug and where to bite not-hard-enough.

“I’d tear you apart if I could…”, hissed the scientist turned Wrecker, “But I suppose I can settle for making you beg.”

Doorwings trembled where they were pinned against the wall.

“I’ll make sure my designation is the only thing you can say after this.”, purred Perceptor, pressing his hips harder against Prowl to pull out one of those shuddery groans from the Praxian, “I’m going to haunt you in the best way, Prowl, don’t you think me gallivanting off with Rodimus will save you.”

Prowl’s optics rolled back and he exvented harshly, steam already dripping from him like tangible lust.

That laugh again, that damn rumble behind an indestructible chestplate, and Prowl focused enough to glare.

“I see you aren’t opposed to the idea.”, crooned Perceptor, moving to press his lipplates against Prowl’s throat, to nip viciously at an energon line and watch the glimmer of energon bead up from the smallest puncture, “Then I shall do my best to make good on my threats.”

Prowl felt his face burn in embarassment when he felt his panels snap open greedily.

The Chesire Cat smile against his neck didn’t help.


	8. Like Sunday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> luxofthedraw asked: okay i have a ridiculous request. the gayest thing you have ever entertained about megs/prime. i'm talking candy coated syrup gay.

Optimus jolted slightly, feeling heavy arms around his waist, nuzzles at his neck. He laughed gently, tilting his helm to give Megatron just a little more room.

“Good morning.”

“Mm.”, was the only answer. Optimus rolled his optics, offering a cube of energon to the half-asleep once-warlord.

He moved it ever farther out of Megatron’s reach when there was an attempt to accept it.

“Mmn. Hmph.”

“Ah, ah, I require payment for my services.”, said the Prime, turing in the loose-armed embrace.

Megatron’s optics were dim, freshly awake, and he smiled lazily.

“’N what ‘s the charge?”

“A kiss.”

Megatron snickered, before acquiescing. One of his hands moved to cup the side of Optimus’s helm as lipplates met; as glossae moved together. It didn’t take long for energon and the day to be all-but forgotten as Optimus leaned back against the counter, melting into the contact between their mouths.

The easiest way to spend the morning hours was lost in your lover.


	9. Like Minded Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hubschraubers asked: “that’s not supposed to bend that way” megs/mags

“ _That’s_ not supposed to bend _that_ way.”

“I am _aware_ , Megatron.”, said Ultra Magnus in a deadpan voice, looking over the twisted knee joint, “I know which way a knee is supposed to bend.”

“Then why aren’t you in the medbay.”, snapped Megatron, moving to grab Magnus’s shoulder, “You absolute glitch, who KNOWS what your whiny joints are doing while you sit here, holed up in your office like a rec-”

CRACK, SNAP, GRIIIIIND.

“There is no need for the Medbay, Captain.”

Megatron blinked in surprise, looking down to where Magnus had forced the knee to bend and forcibly realign. The massive Enforcer carefully tested the limb before standing; he wordlessly leaned against Megatron slightly for support as he bent the limb again, the soft clips and claps of cables returning to their original positioning before he once again sat heavily.

“You were saying, Megatron?”, asked Magnus, “Or is this a case of forgetting the company I’ve kept in my long lifespan.”

Megatron sighed heavily, massaging his temples as Perceptor chose that moment to lean in the door, “Sir, I heard the old call of your knee trying to shatter; everything all right?”

The scientist leaned against the doorframe, trying not to snicker at the look of furious annoyance on Megatron’s face as he waited for Magnus to nod, as always.

“I am alright Perceptor, just tried to twist my limb off again; you know how it is.”

“Of course. If you need anything for it, the lab is always open. My stash is under the left corner-counter.”

“Understood; dismissed.”

A lazy salute, and Perceptor vanished.

“…Stash?”, said Megatron carefully, “Stash of _WHAT_ , exactly.”

“Homebrew.”, was the simple answer, “Wreckers aren’t much fond of medics, or painkillers. Or anything mildly medbay-like.”

Megatron groaned, covering his face with his servos, “You lot are absolutely  **RIDICULOUS** ; and this is coming from **ME**.”

“Indeed, I find it to be flattering.”

“For an Enforcer, you are _terrible_ at rule following.”

“Only when no one is _watching._ ”


	10. Bad Idea, With Legs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> snailnamedsquid asked: ok hear me out... “So do you want to tell me how (one of Rung's models) got lodged in there.” for the smut starter, with Rodimus,,, try and tell me he wouldnt

“So.”

“Don’t.”

“Do you wanna tell me how one of those miniatures got lodged in there? Or should I just take a horrifying accurate stab in the dark here?”

“Why must you be like this, dude.”

“Rodimus, you limped into my medbay with a miniature ship lodged rather damn far into your business; I have a medical obligation and RIGHT to know why the hell you thought this was a good idea.”

“It was PHALLIC and it SOUNDED GOOD AT THE TIME.”

“…Didn’t think you knew a word like phallic.”

“Please just get it out.”

Rung sat demurely beside the medberth, but Ratchet knew he was guffawing internally.

“Yeah, yeah. Hold on tight, this is gonna feel a bit strange.”

“Naw, you don’t say?”

“Apparently you weren’t thinking about that when you did this.”, said Ratchet in a deadpan voice, tapping the tail end of a miniature Ark that was lodged firmly in Rodimus’s valve.

The young Prime’s body jerked suddenly, shuddering before he lay flat again.

“…Shut up.”

Rung snickered.


	11. Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hubschraubers asked: "things you said when i was crying" with megop?

_By the **way**_   
_I **tried** to say_   
_**I’d be there** …._

You were proud of how tall he stood, staring into the mirror. You leaned against the doorframe, before taking solid steps in. He seemed not to hear them.

As you drew closer, you noticed the damp trails over his faceplates, the blur to his optics. The shake to his fists and the hitch to his vents. You noticed the drabness of his colors, the scuffs to his paint and you realized this was a mech in mourning.

“Optimus, Optimus why do you grieve; you’ve won. It’s over.”, you murmured as you reached out to touch his shoulder, “Cease your tears, there’s nothing left to cry ab-”

Your hand passed through him; and your comforts turned to dust before you could say them when you remembered your choice.

**_“Death.”_ **

And before the remains of your spark winked out like a light, you saw him hang his helm and hiss, “You were supposed to be here.”

And then silent blackness, and you were no more.

And thus passed Megatron, Warlord of the Decepticons and the only soul a Prime desperately wanted to save.


	12. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hubschraubers asked: "things you said with too many miles between us" with driftceptor?

_In your house I **long** to be;_   
_Room by room **patiently** ,_   
_I’ll **wait** for you there like a stone._   
_I’ll wait for you there **alone…**_

“Perceptor, you’ve been on eighteen of the past TWENTY watches.”

“Nineteen counting this one.”

The soft sounds of preparation before Perceptor slung his rifle over a shoulder and marched out, Springer following him with an exasperated expression.

“Perceptor, give up. He AIN’T COMIN’ BACK.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He jumped ship in the dead ‘a night.”

“Mistakes happen.”

“Percy, he packed his things and- Hey now.”

He was fixed by a glare so acute he wondered if Perceptor could burn through his plating. The whirr of the optic scope zeroing in on a target didn’t help.

“Don’t. Call. Me. Percy.”, he snarled, “That name. Is not. For YOU.”

Springer swallowed, hands up with servos spread in a kind of surrender as Perceptor walked on, shoulders squared and back far too straight. Springer shook his head as the younger Wrecker vanished out into the night to take up the watch shift.

Perceptor sat, silent, his vents muffled as he scanned the area. The optic scope whirred and clicked, whirred and clicked, focusing and unfocusing as he watched for any movement.

A sign of life.

White armor.

“You waited for me when everyone else gave up hope.”, he murmured, seeing a Con scout lumbering a little too close.

He readied the rifle, he aimed carefully as he continued, “So I’ll wait here for you, Drift.”

His servo tightened on the trigger and he slowly invented.

“Even if I end up the only one left waiting.”

He exvented, and fired; watching the body drop and twitch a final time.

“Primus abandoned us both. But I’m not like him. And neither are you.”

He watched as Blurr bolted out of the grounded ship, calling for backup in the shape of a tired Kup. Kup raised a hand to Perceptor in thanks and Perceptor shifted a shoulder so the mounted scope’s lens flashed briefly back.

“I miss you. Drift. And… sometimes, I can’t help but wonder… Do you miss me too? Do you… Do you even remember my name?”

Percy looked up to the stars; the giants of the galaxy burning themselves out in a galactic wink.

“Come home soon.”


	13. Happiness Is A Warm Berth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tankfairy asked: driftceptor, 19?

_I am the **mess** you chose_   
_The **closet** you cannot close,_   
_The devil in you I **suppose**_

They tumbled onto the berth, laughing through adrenaline-fueled kisses that grew hungrier with every meeting of lips. Drift growled playfully, nuzzling into Perceptor’s neck just to hear the spluttered laughter; the tinge of the accent to the sound like the chords of a favorite song.

The white swordsmech nipped at cables to break that laugh into a soft gasp; to feel Perceptor’s narrow yet firm waist bend with his backstrut’s arch. They kissed again, warm and in love and…

Happy.

Happier than they had been in such a long time.

“I love you.”, murmured Drift.

“I love you more.”, sighed Perceptor, giving himself immediately to those wandering and sword calloused hands.

“You’re mine. Just mine.”, growled Drift when they had tangled so close they nearly blended together like konte-crayon lines and Perceptor dug the tips of servos into flaring armor seams and pleaded for more.

“I love you.”, mumbled Perceptor, plating damp and legs trembling as the final thrums of overload faded from his sensornet in the wee hours. As Drift smiled at him with sadness dulling his optics and whispered-

“I love you too. More than words can say.”

And just like that, happiness was gone before morning’s light touched the wisps of atmosphere.


	14. Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And if she says come inside I’ll come inside for her.  
> If she says give it all I’ll give everything to her.  
> I am justified. I am purified. I am sanctified. Inside you

“Lift me.”, was the command.

Tarn reached down, scooping Starscream up into one heavy arm and straightening. The Seeker’s wings twitched as he settled, crossing his legs properly as he sat and reached up. Tarn shivered when he heard the click of a lead onto the collar he had slipped on before entering.

The rest of his DJD had busied themselves on-planet, giving the pair their privacy.

Starscream hummed appreciatively, stroking the edge of the collar before relaxing into his perch. A hard tug on the lead.

“Onward, Tarn.”

Tarn’s steps thudded heavily as he walked, led by tugs on the leash showing changes in direction. He finally entered the berth, and Starscream patted his chestplate.

“Lock the door.”

Tarn obeyed, feeling Starscream slide from his perch and the click of heelthrusters upon the floor. A yank, and Tarn went to his knees as soon as the lock beeped its agreeance.

“Come with me.”, was the order.

Tarn followed on his knees. He could imagine how they looked; the slight Seeker walking with the sway of his hips; followed by a kneeling and collared mech so much larger…

Tarn shivered again.

And he could imagine how Starscream would place himself on the berth, with those elegant legs spread and panels opened and a smile like a conquering Devil on his face.

Dim optics and fangs.

Tarn couldn’t help but groan.

“Getting excited, are you?”, purred Starscream, “I had hoped so. You’re getting a little… gift, this time. To celebrate a job well done.”

A hand caressed the side of Tarn’s face, and the leader of the DJD leaned into it with a soft groan.

“Onto the berth with you.”

Tarn made a softly confused noise… but again, he obeyed with alacrity. He let Starscream direct him with soft touches, the lead never dropped. Starscream straddled his hips the best he could, graceful even as his legs spread as far as they could; and a gentle press to Tarn’s chestplate to lean the DJD mech back onto elbows.

“Present your spike.”

With a relieved sigh, Tarn let the panel snap open, groaning as his spike pressurized under Starscream’s gaze.

If anything Tarn was well-trained.

Starscream hummed appreciatively, and Tarn’s optic brightened when he heard an answering snickt.

Starscream shifted letting slick valve lips brush over Tarn’s spike and making the Decepticon shudder from the sensation. Starscream chuckled, a soft sound in the dim berth as his free servos moved Tarn’s spike to press against the DJD mech’s body so Starscream could press his valve against the underside and rock his hips. Tarn moaned, back arching at the slide and sloppy noises that soon followed.

When they stopped, and he felt the touch leave he lazily tilted his helm to watch the Seeker.

Starscream grinned, pulling the leash taught as he hovered above the throbbing spike.

“Now. Watch like a good mech… And don’t move.”

Tarn gripped the berth as his fans suddenly kicked on to a higher setting. Starscream lowered himself carefully, gasping open-mouthed as the head pressed against him, then into him. The Seeker’s wings shot straight up, and Tarn made a worried noise in his intake.

The Air Commander grinned, catching Tarn’s gaze before speaking, “What can I say.. I got to missing you I suppose. Gave myself the idea to treat you.”

The Seeker laughed, sinking farther down ever-so-slowly, “And my t _hought process_ is a little _hands on._ ”

The image of Starscream self-servicing to thoughts of him made Tarn’s optics go dim in shock and arousal.

The moan the Seeker gave upon sinking lower on Tarn’s spike made a violet frame rattle.

Starscream’s hips twitched, and he rose up before sinking down once again, until their plating clacked together. The Seeker moaned, rolling his hips and adjusting his grip on the leash.

_“Oh **Tarn** …”_, he gasped, valve clenching on the thick spike within it.

Tarn could only whine in response. Dazedly, he onlined his optics to look back to Starscream, who merely smiled like a victorious incubus and tugged the lead again.

“Tarn.”

A shaky nod.

_“Start moving.”_


	15. Cooler Than Being Cool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VIISIVARVASLAISKIAINEN asked: You still taking requests? If you could write a short ficlet about Drift and Rodimus having a snowball fight and going to a hot oil bath afterwards and then after that possibly cuddling on the couch while watching a movie? That'd be nice. :3

“FRAGGIN’ CHEATER!”

Rodimus flung himself back down to the snowy ground as Perceptor came dangerously close to nailing him in the faceplates with a snowball. He knew Drift was blowing a playful kiss to the scientist, who would snort and roll his optic before returning to his duties patrolling the perimeter.

Rodimus peered up, seeing Drift distracted by Pereptor’s blushing reactions to sly attentions from a particularly curvy speedster, and the Captain knew it was now or never. He looked at the snow-heavy branches hanging over Drift and knew his mission.

The only warning poor Drift got was a yowl of, “FOR PRIMUS AND COUNTRY!”

And a hefty pile of ice cold snow barreled into him at near terminal chillocity. With a pitched shriek, Drift wriggled and scratched his way free, sneezing immediately as his internals flashed a chill warning-

A warning that went ignored so Drift could hold his midsection and laugh, as Rodimus had manged to get stuck upside down in the snowpile.

“Percy! There’s been a casualty!”, he called out, making the sniper jog back with his rifle slung over a shoulder.

With a sigh, the pair of them dug Rodimus out while dodging pronged pedes. Perceptor took one look at the pair of shivering mechs and shook his head.

“Off you both get, go warm up.”, he groused, trying to hide his smile, “Go on!”

Rodimus and Drift looked at each other, and grinned. The challenge was wordless and they raced back to the lost light, whooping and hollering as they kicked up white powder like a slipstream.

“HA! TOO SLOW RODDY!”, called Drift, before he swore hard enough to curl Magnus’s plating as Rodimus darted past him, leaping and kicking off the wall of the LL’s main hall so he didn’t careen into it.

He slid into the massive washrack area, bolting for the largest tub. Drift wheezed, catching up with him when the tub was half full and steaming hot. Rodimus grinned cockily, opening his mouth to gloat when Drift put a hand over his faceplates and shoved the orange mech backwards into the hot oil before clambering in himself.

They both shivered with matching sighs, moving to easily tangle and drowse while they felt the chill seep away from their frames. They nearly drifted into recharge before Rodimus groaned, flexing his stiffening spoiler and lightly tweaking one of Drift’s finials.

A murmur of agreement, and Drift kicked the drain open as they both lazily climbed out. They rinsed themselves (and of course, had a half-hearted sleepy spray fight) before running under the large airdryer and pulling each other to Drift’s habsuite.

They both dropped onto the couch, pulling blankets and pillows with them as they did and settled into a tangled heap.

“Okay dude, Sharknado or Supervolcano.”

“We watched Supervolcano last week.”

“Sharknado it is.”

They made it half an hour in before dropping heavily into recharge.


	16. Shift End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TANKFAIRY asked: breakdown/knockout & “It’s been a long day. Why don’t we help each other unwind?”

_There **he** goes,_   
_My baby walks so **slow**_   
_**Sexual** tic-tac-toe_   
_Yeah I **know** we both know…_

Knockout leaned against the console, his hip against the cool metal; and he drummed the tips of his servos against his opposite hip as he watched Breakdown.

Even after all this time as a medical assistant, he still walked like a Wrecker. Those heavy, sure steps. A rolling gait, like a lion prowling his territory.

It honestly wasn’t fair, how the brute could get the doctor going just by.. by… by EXISTING.

“Breakdown.”, said Knockout softly after resetting his vocalizer to keep the tremor from his voice, “I’d say we were done for the day.”

“Sure thing, doc.”, was the answer, more a growl than a voice and oh how it made Knockout’s plating shiver.

The Decepticon medic watched hungrily as Breakdown passed back and forth through his vision, cleaning up a last few disorganizations before standing fully in the mercenary doctor’s sight.

“Uh, Doc?”

With a wicked grin, Knockout sashayed up to him, reaching out clawed servos to gently trace over his assistant’s chestplate, “Breakdown, we’ve had a long, rough day…”

“A bit, yeah.”

“How about we go… unwind.”

The suggestion was met with a low chuckle, and Knockout being easily lifted by his conjunx. Red and silver legs wrapped around a strong waist as Breakdown grinned.

“You do seem a bit tense there Doc. Maybe I can give ya a hand with that.”

“Please do.”, groaned Knockout, clinging happily to Breakdown as he was whisked away from the medbay and off to their berth.


	17. Father-Son Bonding In Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ZEKKASS asked: As I can't stop thinking about it now: any continuity, any pairing, just give me Megatron stuck in his altmode and picked up by an Autobot. *finger guns*

“You’re stuck.”, said Rodimus with a grin, “In your alt-mode.”

“Did I STUTTER. Please, get Ratchet.”

Rodimus grinned wider, “Sure thing old mech. I’ll get help.”

It wasn’t too long later that the “help” arrived, sure enough. Help in the form of Whirl and sixty-three… _spray paint cans?_

“Rodimus, no.”, rumbled Megatron’s voice from the tank in the still damaged shuttlebay, “Do not even THINK about it.”

“Can do, Megsy.”, said Rodimus too-cheerily, taking one of the cans and briskly shaking it with a wicked grin, “Not a thought to be had, just action.”

“RODIMUS FRAGGING PRIME I SWEAR TO EVERY DEITY IN THE PANTHEON-”

“Mhm, you do that while we make you perty.”, chimed Whirl, lifting the orange mech to reach a hard to get place. The two-mech tower almost toppled when Megatron’s engines rumbled hard and the tank shot in reverse, but Whirl’s stride ate the distance easily.

Unfortunately, the cackled laughter and tinny snickers attracted the attention of Ultra Magnus, who took it upon himself to contact Ratchet with a long suffering sigh…

And with a flinging of wrenches and a trunkload of swears, the Hatchet descended upon the shuttlebay disaster. Whirl bounded out with a leap and echoing cackle as he hurtled out the main doors and down the halls, and Rodimus was unfortunately cornered after a hard hit to the back of the helm.

The orange co-captain groaned as he heard the clunk of machinery, and then the sudden terrifying whirr of transformation.

Rubbing sore steel, he winced before looking to where Racteht stood with a sour look on his face, next to a very livid- and very, VERY PINK- Megatron.

“He, uh… Now is where I run and pray, innit.”

“EMPHASIS ON THE PRAYER.”

Rewind would cherish the footage he had of of Rodimus careening down the halls, shrieking for Magnus and followed by a surprisingly limber and vibrantly rouged Megatron.


	18. Swing With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BUFFTH1S asked: something with knockout and breakdown or roddy and megs? something sappy/sad or like. both

Breakdown watched the frantic pacing of the medic, shaking his head before moving to the console. A few punched in commands, and a beep of confirmation.

The sound of a standup bass being strummed in an uptempo beat.

“Doc.”

More pacing.

“DOC.”

More pacing.

“Knockout.”, said Breakdown in his low rumble, and the medic mercenary looked up.

“WHAT.”

“Dance with me.”

“What.”, asked the doctor, blinking his optics in confusion.

“Dance with me, doll.”

And Breakdown reached out, taking Knockout’s hand and pulling him into the steps. Knockout yelped, pressing against Breakdown’s heavy-duty frame before he snickered, then snorted, then laughed as Breakdown spun him along with the music.

Breakdown grinned, dipping the medic and cherishing the laugh that broke a sour expression like worn glass.

Soundwave nodded his head, his visor flickering with old footage of the swing dancers on earth, and he bobbed in place as he continued to queue up more music.


	19. Safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WWHIRLYBIRD asked: can I get some cuddly prowl and jazz stuff? like cuddles watching tv or like spooning

Sometimes the music stopped for him.

Jazz would recede into himself, give in to the rasped whisper in the back of his processor-

_You’re **bad** you’re **evil** you’ll **never** be **enough** its never **enough** you’re such a **waste** of **space**_

He’d clench his servos into fists to hide the tremors and he’d grit his denta to rein in the pleas for help the bubbled in his intake like unspent emotion. His spark would twist into shards when Prowl would narrow his optics and watch his lover go from the front door to their private quarters.

And then one day, Prowl followed him. Jazz wouldn’t look at him, sitting on the berth with legs crossed and his back to Prowl as he tried to tamp down the emotions that were snapping like live wires on a wet floor and then-

The berth shifted, and Prowl rested his forehelm on Jazz’s shoulder.

“Come back to me.”

“Ah’m right here Prowler, whaddya mean?”

“You know what I mean. Come back to me Jazz; I want to be here for you. No matter what that means.”

Jazz choked.

The berth shivered from movement again, and Jazz let his optics dim as he was pulled against Prowl. Jazz pushed away, he always did, to turn and face his lover with words dancing on lippplates like the sparks to start the Big Bang but the soft expression the TacHead wore killed the phrases before they had a chance to drift into the air.

Jazz looked down, and simply dropped to the side to rest his head on Prowl’s lap. His words began in whispers, like prayers in prisoner’s camp, whispered to the smooth abdominal plating on Prowl’s frame until soon…

They lay curled with each other, spiraled together in black-white-black-white; a stained symbol of equality and protection and hopes and fears and Jazz hiccuped his vents like an electronic bassline and Prowl’s comfort was the hum of a new soundsystem; broadcasting and containing the sacred notes of not-quite-mourning but never-quite-happiness.

And when Jazz calmed his frantic search for.. absolution? Comfort? Praise?

Prowl’s field was there, wrapping around him like armor or the intonations of a hymn and there were arms caging the saboteur like palace walls and dragon’s fire and Jazz sank into the comforts.

Tomorrow, he would be a social magician again. Tomorrow he would be a sorcerer of conspiracy and shadowy actions but for tonight he would settle into a tower made of calculations and low words. Tonight the bridge was drawn up and the dragon curled around him to protect him from all those that sought to free him from what they wrongly assumed was a prison.

Tonight, he was Jazz. He was nervous and scared and never wanted his chrono alarm to remind him of a midday shift. 

Tonight Prowl held him and whispered that he would be okay. Somehow, someday, Jazz would be Jazz again, and there would be music and lights once more.

Jazz couldn’t help but believe him.


	20. Rocky Mountain Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: Deadlock and Rodimus/Hot Rod, somehow. Forget timelines and logic, I need this like air. Also grats for the followers and thanks for being so awesome.

Just passing through, they said.

No visible brand, just a neutral passing through.

Hot Rod scanned over the frame, taking in the scuffs and scraped paint and the holster on one thigh. Neutral. Right. Probably a bounty hunter, or some kind of scout.

Hot Rod watched as the mech finished his drink and set the glass down near silently. Payment was laid down, and Hot Rod immediately looked away so as not to be caught staring.

A moment of silence passed and Hot Rod was about to relax…

“I could see y’starin’ at me.”

Hot Rod froze, slowly looking up to meet the stranger’s gaze. A smirk firmly planted on the “neutral’s” face.

“Musta liked what you saw, you were slack-jawed half the time.”

“Yeah well, we don’t get many passers-through here on Nyon.”

“Happens to the best of places, mech. So you a res here?”

“Yeah, sparked and sponsored. Why?”

“You know any good places t’stay overnight? Ship’s goin’ through maintenance and I need a place to recharge.”

Hot Rod had no idea why he offered his home. He’d blame his environment til the day he died, as the stranger introduced himself as Lock.

… Which was the designation Hot Rod was gasping hours later, servos gripping Lock’s helm as he rode a glossa like a professional and his back arched hard.

“NnghL-Lo-ock!”

Overload shook him down to his struts and he whimpered softly, falling back onto the berth with a moan. The shaded visage of his guest rose form between trembling thighs, licking his lips as his engine idled in a purr.

“Vocal. I like that.”

“Mmn.”

Hot Rod felt a kiss to his abdomen and shuddered, spreading his legs a little wider to fit Lock’s hips between them when he heard the click of a panel opening. He choked on a gasp when a spike pressed against his valve ring.

“Lessee how loud I can get ya, hm?”

“Nnnghplease.”

A thrust of those hips and Hot Rod cried out, curling his servos in the covers of the berth as he writhed, impaled on a heavy spike with one smooth motion.

Lock chuckled low in his chest, leaning to press a kiss to the center of Hot Rod’s chestplate.

“Get loud sweetspark.”

==================================

Years and adventures later, Rodimus sat at a table in Swerve’s laughing with Perceptor and Brainstorm and recounting his adventures (well, the good ones) on Nyon.

Drift’s finials perked when the name Lock was mentioned, and he suddenly burst into laughter.

“What dude?”

“Lock, huh? Dark plating, finials a bit shorter than mine?”

“…Yeah, yeah come to think of it. You could be his sparkbrother if I squint.”

Perceptor rested his helm on the table and started to snicker. Drift grinned, an oddly familiar smirk.

“What’s so funny.”

“D-Deadlock.”, wheezed Perceptor, “Drift’s prev-vious designation was DEADLOCK.”

Rodimus blinked, before realization began to dawn on him.

Then Drift leaned closer to the Captain and murmured, “Get loud, sweetspark.”

“SWEET SLAGHEAPS IN THE INFERNO, I FRAGGED DEADLOCK?!”

Magnus dropped his drink when he whirled to see a shocked Rodimus with hands on his helm and optics wide. Drift was draped over Perceptor, and both were laughing so hard coolant leaked from their optics.


	21. Grip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: Dratchet?

_Or it’s gonna slip, slip, slip **though** your  
Slip, slip, slip through your **hands**_

He was a slippery speedster, to be sure. Keeping him still was always difficult.

And Drift loved being chased. It lit him up in a way that couldn’t be explained. 

He did it to Rodimus with a smile in the sparring room, dancing out of his range only to dart intimately close and murmur, “Point.” as he tapped the edge of a practice blade against a throat, and abdomen.

He did it to Perceptor, coaxing the cold-imaged scientist to chase for kisses and to reach out for him only to miss at the last minute.

He could never really escape your grip, though. OUt of this strange little lover’s group that had developed around him, of the friends linked by Drift you had always been the best at catching hold of him.

You always managed to keep him still and watch with a wicked grin as he pleaded with his motions, as you traced seams and gently scratched over sensitive plating until he shuddered on your lap with open-mouthed moans.

Its not your fault medics were fantastic with their hands…

And you were definitely one of the best.


	22. Goalpost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: Hi!,, If you're still doing requests, maybe could I ask for some Whirl/Cyclonus bonding? Maybe through fighting side-by-side or sparring/taking care of Tailgate/Going out for a drink?

“OI, PURPLE-PEOPLE EATER, GO LONG!”

Cyclonus whirled to see a flailing Decepticon flung at him, and reacted on instinct with a balled fist and a hard right hook.

The yelp and thud combination was almost choreographed as the Con jerked to side and slammed into the dirt, cracking the dry soil they battled upon. Cyclonus stared, blinking before looking up at Whirl.

Single optic locked on Cyclonus’s face, Whirl raised both pincers, clacked them once…

And threw his helm back as he bellowed, “GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!”

Cyclonus tried to fight it, he really did. But the victorious pose Whirl had struck, coupled with the clacking victory dance that followed broke his veneer a moment; long enough for a rumble of laughter to roll from a violet chest.

The laughter was cut short when a Decepticon leapt onto Whirl’s back, making the Wrecker squawk in annoyance befor a pincer clamped onto the backplating of the offending stowaway. Whirl peeled them off of his frame, and looked at Cyclonus with devilish glee in his optic.

Cyclonus drew the greatsword he still carried, blade patched and sharpened to a winter’s edge, and he braced.

“EEEEEY BATTABATTA SWING BATTABATTA!”

Another lob of a flailing enemy, and Cyclonus swung indeed.

Two halves of a frame thudded into the ground, twitching, and Whirl cackled, “AND THAT, MY FRIENDS, IS A GRADE-A HOME RUN!”

“Wreckers.”, sighed Cyclonus.

A ping, and he jolted to side only to see a smoking hole in the helm of the Con he had punched previously before that body fell lifeless upon the ground.

“CIVILIANS.”, sighed Perceptor dramatically over the comline.

Whirl howled in laughter at Cyclonus’s indignat glare into the distance.


	23. Ashes to Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WWHIRLYBIRD asked: Alright asshole, lets go angst. Prowl finally falling apart under the weight of everything he's done. The fact that Optimus Prime "Freedom is the right of all sentient beings" wants him dead. The fact that his "friends" didn't even notice that he was being controlled by someone else. I want to see him fucking broken and in pieces.

_They got a message from the Action Man_   
_[I’m happy. Hope you’re **happy** , too._   
_I’ve loved. All I’ve **needed:** love._   
_**Sordid details following.** ]_

They told you so many times that you had it all and lost it in one fell swoop.

They don’t realize you never had a thing, did you? All you’ve ever had was numbers and prayers whispered at midnight into a glass of something too strong to be legal. All you’ve ever had were rules and regulations, the echo of “Yes Sir” in the back of your mind.

_“You so many good things going for you!”_

You never had or did a good thing in your life, did you?

You bloodstained wreck.

All you have now is the freedom to scream at a now quiet devil in your mind, all you have is the memory of a glimmering visor turning away with,  _“It ain’t you, it’s me.”_

_**I just wanted something more than you can give me, Prowler.** _

And you screamed, screamed in your soul that you could give him anything, WOULD give him anything if just this once you could be saved.

And he was gone.

And you turned to the other faces around you, names you can recite like integers and faces that once made you feel at home in this hellscape you call life-

And one by one, they too, fade into warm memory. They no longer see you, no longer hear you, want you.

No longer care.

And you turned lastly to the ones who direct you, order you, protect you. Even though you know its only because of your usefulness. 

And they too, betray you, you sullen recluse. You monk-like slave to the gods of Probability and Strategy; they cast you aside like the leper you must be. 

And now you sit alone, bandaged haphazardly after the medics wanted nothing more than you out of the medibay. Broken in ways you don’t know how to fix, if they even CAN be fixed.

Your mistakes follow you like a miasma of hidden doubt and open disdain; you are clouded in judgments that were never yours to make and decisions that were never yours to face and you are alone.

Alone, alone, alone- the final fate of the glittering Lucifer fallen so far into Hell he cannot be saved.

You thought once it would be better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven, but now you realize it, don’t you?

The landscape doesn’t matter, the rank never did.

What is the point of being the ruler of a burning world if no one would ever want to look at you?

What is the point of controlling legions if not one looks back to make sure you will be safe?

What point is there, to ascend a shadowy throne of control if it was never you seated upon it?

_Why should you exist when your existence is made futile?_

You stare at the window, wondering if one more trip through it to land on your processor will end it, will cease the howling storm chained back by lines of code and control.

_‘You won’t.’_ ,whispers your processor, _‘You won’t do it. I know you won’t, we know you won’t.’_

“Says who?”, you asked the midnight hour, you ask the Mephistopheles to your Faust, “Who says I won’t check out of a world I never had?”

_‘Because you are a coward.’_ it answers with a kind of clinical glee,  _‘You are a coward wrapped in the hope that one day you will matter.’_

You feel your exvents hitch, you drop your drink and it shatters upon the floor like arterial spray.

_**‘You were never more than a cog in the machine.’** _


	24. And I Drove You Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VIISIVARVASLAISKIAINEN asked: So I heard you take some pron requests based on that list? Wrift and "Mmm. Right there..." With top!Wing and bottom!Drift, please? :'3c

It was a gift, hearing the normally coarse-voiced ex-Con groan like that. A gift, as well well as a dare.

_“Mmm-m! Right there…”_

Wing grinned from his place between Drift’s thighs, watching vents flicker open to leak steam like absolution as Drift’s back rose in an arch. The Knight purred, leaning back down to lap at Drift’s valve with a purr rumbling in his chest; letting Drift’s gasps and groans wash over him like a midnight tide or the waters of baptism.

Drift whined, servos digging into the berth as he shuddered hard, thighs twitching and valve leaking as his temperature rose slowly, ever so slowly, as Wing teased him without mercy nor quarter and finally- FINALLY- the ex-Con rasped out a stammered,  _“Please!”_

Wing sat back on his knees, licking his lipplates at the sprawled form of Drift on the berth; plating ruffled and abdomen twitching with every throb of desire over his sensornet.

_“Well.. Since you asked so very nicely…”,_ mused Wing, tilting his head with gold optics glowing in victory, _“Who am I to tell you no?”_

Drift whined when the berth shifted, when he felt servos grip his legs and move them wider open still and a spike pressed against his valve.

Drunkenly blue optics looked to Wing, white swirls and desperation flickering in alternation as he rasped out the same plea once again.

Wing grinned, showing surprisingly sharp dentae, and his hips pressed forward; the stretch making Drift choke on his own voice in the dim room.

The soft sounds the ex-Con made were a gift, to Wing. But they were also a dare.

_“Let’s see how loud you get this time, hm?”_


	25. Domino Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: "I needed this." for Driftceptor please

Seven times.

Drift had his day interrupted seven times by the klaxons of a lab lockdown. Seven. Times.

The seventh was followed by the blue-tinged swearing in an Iacon-University accent; and the rapid sounds of a running jet.

A Running jet and pistol-fire.

Drift rose from his seat, and Magnus looked at him, eyebrow quirked.

“Time to calm down the scientist.”, said Drift simply.

“…As long as he can speak afterwards, this time.”

“No guarantees.”, chimed Drift happily, bouncing steps carrying hi out the door as Rodimus guffawed.

Drift made it to the hab in record time, slinking in and perching on Perceptor’s desk as his comms pinged.

:: Percy?::

::I’m heading back early. Try not to be loud when you get home.::

::Bad day?::

::Do not ask questions that I must holler the answers to. Not until I’ve had a few drinks.::

The comms clicked off, and Drift exvented a sigh. One of those days. Poor Perceptor… Drift grinned to himself, fanged dentae glinting in the light of the suite. He’d just have to work extra hard to “help” the scientist relax then.

A finial twitched when he heard the soft swearing as Perceptor failed to enter the doorcode the first time. The hiss of the door announced the heavy footsteps, and Drift slid off the desk her perched on.

Perceptor paused when he saw Drift taking quiet steps towards him.

“You’re earl- mmf!”

Drift pounced, finials flicking back as he pressed his lipplates to Perceptor’s; as he walked the scientist back until backstruts hit the wall. The ex-Wrecker froze at the thud, before melting into the contact; whining as Drift’s kisses moved to neck-cables and tilting his helm to give the speedster room.

The scientist shuddered as a thigh slipped between his legs, as the heavy coolant-hoses at his sides were traced with needle-point claws. A harsh nip near Perceptor’s throat-lines and he gasped hoarsely, vents hissing as they dumped the rapidly building heat from his frame.

“I-I needed thi-IS!”

Drift purred, pressing a soft kiss to Perceptor’s jawline, “Don’t know, Percy. Maybe you need a bit more than this, hm?”

Perceptor’s fans suddenly whirred to life, and his hands were on Drift’s waist and trembling.

“P-Perhaps.”


	26. LowKey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: how about "Are you sure we aren't going to get caught?" for Thundercracker/Bumblebee

“Are you sure we aren’t going to get, y’know, _caught?_ ”, hissed Bumblebee before biting his servos as Thundercracker nuzzled his neck cables with a grin.

“No.”

Bumblebee sputtered softly after yanking his digits free of his dentae; the words dying in his intake as Thundercracker’s aristocratic servos traced over seams, dipping between plating and stroking delicate wiring. The Seeker’s wings twitched, a shiver of flightpanels more than anything as he worked to draw out the soft gasps and huffs from his yellow lover.

“I have absolutely no idea if we’ll be caught.”, murmured the flier into Bee’s audial now, “For all I know, half the compound could walk in and see you like this; up against the wall and played like a violin.”

Bumblebee moaned at the thought before catching himself and feeling faceplates heat.

Thundercracker grinned viciously, fangs showing as his optics glinted, “But you’ve always been a risk-taker, haven’t you?”

Bumblebee shuddered, his servos now gripping Thundercracker’s shoulders as the barest hints of a whimper slipped from his vocalizer.


	27. Proximity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: Request for any (but preferably G1) Optimus and Megatron "forgive for I am about to sin"?

It had started a battle, and ended like this. He was too close, too close; dangerously close; enough that you can feel his spark thrum beneath his chestplate and hear the rasp of vents still ragged from the dust of an age gone by.

Close, too close.

The Devil is against you, holy one, call out for God to save you.

But you don’t WANT to be saved, do you? Not this time. There’s a supernova in your processor and your inhibitions are being pulled into a singularity to vanish from existence; and he grins and holds your chin between his servos and growls, “Any last words?”

Your battlemask snaps open, “F-Forgive me Primus.”

He arches an eyebrow, “..Louder, Optimus.”

“F-Forgive me, Primus, for I am about to sin.”

And you surge forward to kiss him and its angry and something you’ve needed for far too long- And then he’s pressing back, there’s a wall holding you steady and nothing else but this moment matters to you as work-calloused servos dig viciously into seams and you shudder with a wheezed cry.

In this moment, your Father-God has forsaken you and you couldn’t be happier as you pull your enemy close enough to blend together.


	28. Serpent in the Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: "Are you sure we aren't going to get caught?" With Prowl and a bit of your choosing?

_Seducing with a strychnine smile_   
_Succulent display, what a shame_

Prowl pressed against you, doorwings flicking like a snake’s rattle and his optics nearly feline in their partial shuttering. The embellished hourglass of his frame was a temptation illustrated in curved equations, smooth and sleek and heavy and far too vivid to let you keep your processor straight and you gasped as he pressed closer to nuzzle against your throat.

Your servos grip his hips and the desk rattles behind you as you shiver from the rev of his pursuit engine and you whine like your dying as he digs his digits into your sides to make you jump.

“Y-Ya sure we won’t get caught Prowler?”

“There is a fifteen percent chance of discovery.”, he purred, calculating and saccharine, “Assuming of course, we remain quiet.”

His servos tease the cables int he joints of your hips, and you nearly drop.

“However, Jazz, I daresay you won’t be able to do so.”

He nips your collar faring, you moan brokenly and sag against him like an airless balloon and he laughs in your ear like sin itself.

“In that case, there is now a sixty-five percent chance of discovery.”

His servotips now dance over your panels ad you bury your face against his neck to mask the growl from between clenched dentae; he revs his engine again and you nearly convulse, too charged up by his touches to stay still.

“But, I don’t really think you’d mind; would you Jazz.”

He leans harder against you, and you dig servos into his plating to hold on before you rattle apart like a highrise on an active faultline.

“As long as its with me, isn’t that right, lovermine.”

You groan weakly, nodding your helm against his shoulder and gasping as your panels click open, unable to withstand the teasing. You lean back, vents hissing as they dump heat as fast as they can and he kisses you hard and warm and you swear your spark is going to explode like a dying star.

He’s going to break you down to the bare atoms and you’re going to love every minute of it


	29. Careful Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: "I didn't hurt you, did I?" with Soundwave/Megatron?

Soundwave was quiet, clinging to his leader and merely trembling as his optics slowly onlined again. He hissed a sigh, and slowly relaxed as larger hands touched him carefully, so carefully.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”, was the low baritone rumble from behind an etched chestplate.

Soundwave looked up, sleepy-optics and relaxed expression, and shook his head. His plating still spared with the tail end of charge zapping through his sensornet and he leaned against Megatron with a happy wheeze and chirrup; enjoying the petting from mine-roughened hands.

Megatron smiled, a rare sight and one Soundwave liked to think was only for him; and Soundwave reached up to touch his leader’s faceplates, to memorize such an expression.

They pressed forehelms together, and Megatron laughed at Soundwaves soft chittering beeps.

“Let me know when your vocalizer is back online.”

A nod, and Soundwave settled against his leader to doze peacefully until war once again called them away from this soft respite.

Their trysts were always quiet and gentle; a careful silence like gossamer curtains to hide them from the world… just for a little while.


	30. Teasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: Deadlock/Perceptor - What if the Circle of Light had taken Perceptor with them when they collected up all those scientists and engineers and artisans and such and fled? What would a certain ex-Decepticon make of this nosy nerd who seems fascinated with him?

He was fun to tease at first.

Little things, whispering into his audials to make his optics gleam brightly in a shy kind of desire. Pairing up with Wing to surround him in broad frames and low voices to watch him shiver.

And then he retaliated, and it wasn’t fun anymore, it was cruel.

Deadlock slunk up behind him, growling a “Hello sweetspark.” and putting his hands on slim hips.

Then Perceptor grabbed Deadlock’s hands, pulling the con close enough to feel a purring engine and whispered, “Hello Sir.”

Then Perceptor released war-rough hands to turn in the loose embrace, spreading his servos over Deadlock’s chestplate with knowing touches; the whites and muted reds and heavy greys of a medic-scientist’s plating an odd complement to white and black and war-scars.

And then it was Perceptor whispering lewd sentences in audials. It was Perceptor pinning Deadlock against the edge of a desk and pleading in that clipped Iaconian University voice to be taken over that same desk; asking if Wing would join in, since he seemed so taken with flirting with the pair of them.

“Would you both want me at once? Or all to yourselves at different hours, hm?”

 It was fun to tease him, at first.

It was BETTER to welcome him closer, to feel his servos trace every line curious optics had roved over during rebuilds and repairs; to make him gasp and beg between the pair of them.

Legs to Avalon that draped over Wing’s shoulders; Perceptor’s helm turned and a smooth glossa lapping at Deadlock’s spike in coy licks as aristocratic servos traced microseams.

Yes, this was much better than just teasing him.


	31. White Birches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: Perceptor/Drift/Wing - What if instead of securing it, Perceptor had "borrowed" Brainstorm's time traveling device to go back and revive Wing (*handwavey science magic*) after Drift had left Theophany?

It was out of love; but many would tell you it was stupidity.

You had worked and modified; patched and repaired the briefcase setup until the controls were perfect. You set the times and dates within nanoseconds of each other, and packed enough supplies to stabilize him.

If you couldn’t have Drift…. if you didn’t deserve him-

You’d give him someone who could, someone he longed for. Someone he missed more than, you think, he ever missed you.

And you did. A field operation and medbay rush later; radioactivity and quantum equations trailing off you as you ran to the medbay and shouldered the door open.

AS Ratchet looked at you, something like mourning in his eyes. And you both set to work.

Four flatlines later, he lay on a medberth; vents even if rattley. You sat with him every day, speaking to him until his optics onlined. You calmed his panic, taking his servos in your own; your dirty hands, covered in gunshot residue and spilled energon and explained to him.

You spoke plainly, no jargon, no pretty words.

You told him what you had done; yo told him why you did it.

And then you called for Ratchet to bring Drift in.

You moved away from the berth, feeling your spark break when Drift wept against Wing’s scarred chestplate.

You turned and slipped out, a wraith, the opposite of Death today.

No one saw you for three days while you mourned your loss.

On the third night, you fell into your berth with a weak sigh, rolling onto your sore back and settling in the glimmer of starlight. You felt yourself slowly, slowly cycling down into recharge until the sound hit your audials.

The hiss of your door opening, and then sliding shut. You reached for your pistol, only to feel servos take your own. Your optic onlined to see…

“Drift?”

“Mhm.”

You looked to the foot of your berth when it creaked to see Wing perched upon the edge; scars glittering like a comet’s trail.

“…Wing?”

“Yes, pretty one.”

“…”

Drift chuckled, “This was Wing’s idea.”

You narrow your optic, “…I’ve no need for pity.”

“That isn’t what we’ve come to deliver, little lover.”, crooned Wing.

“Then why?”

Drift laughed, “Oh Percy, Percy; you’re so oblivious its kind of cute.”

“I… don’t understand.”

“We, as in the pair of us…”, began Drift.

“Fell for you, and hard.”, finished Wing.

“Wh-WHat?!”, you yelped.

“You went against time itself… to try and make me happy.”, said Drift softly.

“Knowing that bringing me here, saving me, could lose the only mech you love; you still did it. And sat with me each day I recovered.”

“You soothed my spark.”

“You repaired mine.”

“And because of such care and devotion…”, said Wing.

“WE fell for YOU in return.”, finished Drift, “Its a thing that happens when you’re loved, Percy. You’re loved, and you love in return.”

“Would you have us?”, asked Wing, “Both of us?”

You stared in shock. You? They wanted YOU of all mechs? You, a killer, a gunner. A gun-fondling battle stat you’ve been called; a clown with a gun. They wanted you?

“Will you be gone by morning then, like a dream?”, you asked quietly, fearfully.

“Well, my shift tomorrow is early, But I can wait til you wake up at least.”, laughed Drift, “But I’d like to be able to come home to you AND Wing.”

“You’ll be stuck with me all day, sadly.”, said Wing, matching Drift’s grin, “Until they find duties to saddle me with.”

You flickered your optics like a blink… and you laughed. You laughed and you laughed and you pulled Drift down to the berth with a softly crowed, “Then yes! Yes I’ll have you both, til hell takes us all in Primus’s name.”

Wing’s namesake fluttered as he crawled up onto the berth; they each settled on one side of you, nuzzling under your jaw, kissing over your cheeks and shoulders and wrapping their arms around your waist.

Drift’s engine revved, and Wing laughed in his chestplate-

Their hands simultaneously moved down to trace servos over your panels, and your fans immediately clicked on.

“Then let’s celebrate, Percy.”, crooned Drift, grinning with his fangs glinting.

“Oh yes; though far in this life you have come, you have many miles before you sleep-”, whispered Wing, his hand coming up to catch your chin and pull you into a cinnamon-sharp kiss, “And many miles to go before WE sleep~”

Wing kissed you again, hard and firm and real as Drift flipped the manual release for your panels and you moaned hoarsely and let yourself fall open for them.

Time to put some mileage on your engine.


	32. Things You Said With Too Many Miles Between Us (Blitzmegs)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> INSANETRIIPLEDCHANGER asked: BlitzMegs, 15~ :3

_[All your mental **armor** drags me down  
Nothing hurts like your **mouth**](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DRW8Aw2t7mAw&t=MTYxMjNmMWM3M2E4NWExZmVkYmE1YzRmMTExZGMyMDBjMWFkZWJkZCxkRTJDQUZDdw%3D%3D) _

He dismissed you from his quarters like you were merely standing at attention. As if the previous night, bleary and warm and hungry, never happened. You did as you were asked, and you vanished. From his rooms, from the base, from the country-

You flew until comms were out of range. And when your wings throbbed, you drove. And when your treads burned, you walked. And when your pedes hummed in pain, you collapsed, you leaned against unforgiving stone and you watched the sky turn and turn like the Devil’s roulette wheel and you let your thoughts race back and forth; back and forth like wilted flowers that dripped petals like energon.

You don’t know how long you sat there; you don’t remember activating your long range comms but you seemed to snap out of your meditatory suffering when the pings came in.

::Where are you, Blitzwing?::

::Blitzwing ANSWER ME.::

::….::

::I have hurt you.::

::I was callous, and I have hurt you.::

::I am not a mech created to love. I am a conqueror; I am a warlord- I have a mission.::

::….::

::But I would hand it over in a sparkbeat to know you are okay.::

You felt a smile crack your normally frigid visage.

::Come home, lover.::

His voice sounded soft, in these messages. Almost timid. Regretful. Longing.

A whirr as your faces changed, and the darkest personality shone through with a manic grin and a reedy cackle.

“VELL IF YOU INSIST, LOVERBOT! YOU SAPPY OLD CALCULATOR!”

You ran and leapt into the air to transform and thrusters kicked on with a roar; you sped through clouds, hissed through storms like a camel through a needle’s eye; and when you couldn’t fly, you barreled trough brush and mud until your treads nearly flew off from overuse. And then, then you ran-

And he was waiting, waiting for you as you skidded to a stop in front of him and leaned over. Hands on your knees, you wheezed a vent. You straightened felt the warmth of his hand against your cheekplates, and coyly averted your eyes.

“Where were you?”

“Vandering about in z’he realm of thought.”

“I did not mean to be so…”

“I know, Megatron.”

“What brought you back?”

“Z’he vords you said mitt too many miles betveen us.”


	33. Things You Said That I Wasn’t Meant To Hear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: if you're still taking requests then 20 Driftceptor please

You were curled against him, hearing the rumble of an idle tank engine as your frames pinged and cooled and fans whirred on high.

You were pressed against his chest and in that twilight dim place between recharge and wakefulness when you heard him. When he spoke like a guttering match, like the beginning of fall rain.

When he held you tight, and he whispered like a prayer into the sharp ozone scent and warmth of the habsuite.

_“I wish you loved me like you loved him.”_

Your processor tumbled over itself, confused and still scattered-

You had said His name.

You felt cold roiling in your tanks when you realized you had whispered Wing’s name while Perceptor had gasped your own.

And with the sniper’s broken confession ringing in your helm like church bells, your arms went around him and you clung tighter; you pressed closer.

You asked for forgiveness without a single word-

And he gave it freely. Freely, with no grudge, you knew he would. He always did; even after you left the first time, the second time-

And… you think that’s what hurt the most.


	34. Things You Whispered In My Ear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HUBSCHRAUBERS asked: 34, blitzmegs?

Blitzwing looked…. peaceful. Quiet.

He looked innocent, as though war had never touched hi with a scowl, with a snarl, with a reedy laugh that froze sparks in their chambers.

You stroked over his helm, smiling despite yourself. Despite everything.

You leaned forward, pressing your lipplates to his forehelm before you whispered; before you spoke in a low rumble with his helm in your lap and his audials by your abdomen.

_“I love you.”_

Around you was desolation, around you was failure and destruction.

He looked so peaceful, as grey crept over blues and blacks and gunshot residue.

You do not cry; but you mourn.


	35. Things You Said With No Space Between Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GUTTERMECH asked: Winglock with 'things you said with no space between us' ~?

“I don’t know.”, he whispered, clinging tightly to his reality when you asked him how evil existed side-by-side with his God.

“I don’t know.”, he breathed, looking to the sky with wonder and fear as you pointed out the stars you followed and asked if he’d one day follow them with you.

“I don’t know.”, he laughed, relaxing in a warm embrace as you asked him why he was so precious to you, how he had nestled so firmly into your spark.

“I love you.”, you told him in a voice like gravel, a voice like burlap rucksacks and the dust of running along horizons.

“I know.”, he replied, wrapped up in you and optics hazy, “I know.”

“Do you know if you love me?”, you asked him quietly, forehelms touching.

“I know.”, he replied, “I know I love you. More than words can say.”

“…. I don’t know.”, you say with a broken voice when they asked you how you will live without him, as he lay bathed in the light of absentee gods and mourning optics, “I don’t know.”


	36. Things You Said With Too Many Miles Between Us (Winglock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPARKGOD asked: 15 & winglock??

_I am **flawed**_   
_But I am cleaning up so **well**_   
_I am seeing in **me** now the things you swore **you** saw yourself_

“I always thought you were just a fatal optimist.”, Deadlock, now Drift, murmured, “I always thought that maybe you were just tryin’ t’get in good with me. It’s happened before, it’ll happen again right?”

He chuckled, the sound thick and heavy like cold clover honey.

“But… you kept sayin’ it, Wing. You never let it up, y’know? After so long bein’ called a monster, a criminal… Hearing what you said was almost terrifyin’. After all this time believing I was nothin’ more than a gun with a processor here you were; makin’ me feel like a mech again.”

He leaned back in the pilot’s seat, staring out the clear glass window.

“I’m messed up. I’m broken in weird ways but… You didnt fix me, nah. You did somethin’ far better Wing.”

He gripped the controls to hide the shake in his hands.

“You taught me how to repair myself.”, he whispered, “An’ that I deserve to be okay, again.”

He shuttered his optics, knowing the gem on the greatsword was glowing faintly as though it could listen to his quiet confessional.

“I still can’t b’lieve in God the right way. I still can’t give myself up t’something I haven’t seen in action… But…”

“I can believe in what you told me.”

_‘I Love You.’_ echoed in his processor like a whisper, like a hymn; like redemption and absolution.

He steered into the stars, leaving behind his old ways and, for once, looking forward with something like a smile.


	37. Things You Said When We Were On Top Of The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GUTTERMECH asked: Driftceptor with 'things you said when we were on top of the world' owo

It had come out in a rush, your words jumbled together as your finials burned in a blush.

_“I love you.”_

Emotions were still high from victory, you hadn’t expected him to bother taking you seriously though you meant it with all your spark.

But when his normally deadpan expression lit up like full throttle thrusters and fireworks and he pulled you into a kiss that left you breathless, you knew he had.

_“I love you too.”_

You swore you were above the universe, just for a moment, as he whispered those words against your lipplates.


	38. Things I Wish You’d Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: Maybe #30 with CyGate?

Friendship means you never lie.

Closeness means honesty.

You know that better than most. That’s why you wished. You wished he had told you he would be perfectly alright.

As he lay on the medical berth, quiet, too quiet. You wished he had looked up you with a bright visor and his chiptune giggle and physically told you,  _“I’ll be fine Cyclonus!”_

Because he never lied to you.

He never lied, to you.

You leaned your horned helm down, and sat in the cloying silence and waited.

Waited for him to be good on his silent promises; the understood words.

“Please Tailgate. Please be alright.”

Your voice hitches, catches a little, “You… You promised.”


	39. Things You Said But Didn’t Mean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: 36, Ratchet/Perceptor?

“I’m sorry for saying things I didn’t mean, Perceptor.”

He looked at the medic, sighing as he then continued to bustle about his lab, “I’m sure at the time you truly meant it, Ratchet. No harm meant.”

“What d’you think I’m referencing, Perce?”

“…Saying you loved me, all those years ago.”, was the soft answer as Perceptor froze, turning to look curiously at Ratchet.

The CMO laughed softly, shaking his helm, “No, Percy. I’m talking about trying to say I didn’t, anymore.”

Perceptor gasped softly as Ratchet stood before him, as a red hand brushed servos along the scientist’s jawline.

“I lied to both of us that day.”

He pressed the sniper against the counter’s edge, kissed him hard and hungry and felt the rumble of an engine against his frame as Perceptor groaned into the contact. Slim black servos gripped at medic’s plating as too sensitive ones moved down to trace a slim waist.

Neither heard the beep of the door locking, nor heard Drift whistling outside the lab as he walked away, clearly pleased.


	40. A Language of Lovers

_Did I say enough  
Or did I say too much? _

It was what was appropriate.

A kiss to the King’s hand, grazing lip components over his knuckles, over the heavy polished ring upon his middle servo.

The crew, and BOTH of its Captains, had returned, victorious. Bearing messages of praise and forgiveness, of loyalty and strength.

Rodimus stood, taller than he ever had, wiser than before. Optimus looked away, unable to stop his optics from growing damp. Megatron was ever playful in his mood, tugging a little too hard on Starscream’s hand to make his wings flap to keep balance.

“Oh, you jackaft.”

“Cradle robber.”

Several crewmates looked to Rodimus as Megatron murmured the teasing title. They had known how each night, Rodimus would be called away to Starscream’s grandiose chambers for “counsel” and “advice”.

No one commented on the tiny tickmarks left by Seeker claws. Or the loopy grin on his face.

‘Give it time.’, Rodimus would say, ‘Give it a little more time before saying anything. Let me make the first move.’

And they waited, eager to see what the boisterous Captain would do.

Kisses to knuckles, to the back of a tired leader’s hand in respect.

Rodimus took his knee as Starscream stood before him, intrigued.

The leader offered his hand to the Captain, expecting to feel lipplates against his knuckles; wishing they were against his own lip components instead-

Rodimus held Starscream’s hand gently, far more gentle than previous lovers. And carefully, he turned it so the palm faced up. Softly, he kissed the scuffed and war-calloused palm, feeling servos tighten to cup his chin.

Megatron couldn’t help but smile when Rodimus looked up the kingly Seeker, leaning into Starscream’s touch.

No one could remember a time where the one-time Air Commander looked so content.


	41. Happiness

_Let me in, let me wonder  
Let me worry where you’ve been_

Cyclonus yawned grandly as Tailgate clambered up onto his midsection before sprawling back over him.

A soft rumble of curiosity.

“Hey, let’s watch stupid movies.”, trilled that chiptune’d voice, “Because I know you like to laugh at them but you hate laughing in big groups.”

Cyclonus rumbled again, lazy as a lion before shifting on his berth so he could sit up and cross his legs. With a soft beeping chirr, Tailgate slowly slid down before landing with a soft bump in Cyclonus’s lap; feeling heavy arms wrap around him and squeezing gently.

Agreement.

“This one’s called Sharknado. You can probably guess how dumb it is just from that, huh.”

A snicker and a snort.

Tailgate settled back against Cyclonus, yawning once before hitting play on the datapad in his servos.

“Flying… sharks.”

“Yep. Nyoom.”

“…I didn’t know Brainstorm made films.”

Tailgate cackle-squeaked as the jumpy growl of Cyclonus’s laugh rumbled through a small white frame.

He curled tighter around the mini, nuzzling the side of Tailgate’s helm once in thanks before settling his chin against Tailgate’s shoulder; the pair of them snipping clips of banter back and forth as they curled in their comfy tangle.


	42. Hazey

You don’t know how long you had writhed here, panels shut and vibrations making your sensornet flicker like heat lightning over the desert.

You don’t know how long he had watched laying next to you and murmuring the lewdest words into your audials; gently removing your visor to watch your optics water as you overload again and again and again with a slack jaw and whited-out optics.

He presses the heel of his palm against your panel, shifting the pair of bullet vibrators and making you choke and curl on your own climax and wail his designation into the room.

You pant open-mouthed, looking down over your coolant-drenched frame to see shimmering slickness leaking over your thighs and then he whispers in your audial once again, but this time, it is a command.

_“Open up.”  
_

With a broken moan you do, shivering and bucking your hips as your spike pressurizes even as it leaks transfluid; as the cool air makes it throb with your sparkbeat and you feel oral fluid leak from the corner of your mouth from how delicious the sensation is.

And then he’s straddling you, sinking down on your spike and you feel the soft vibrations in his own valve and the round shape of a mini bullet and realize that the whole time you’d be begging and writhing and nearly crying for him-

He’d been suffering the same as you.

And oh, he’s slick and warm and perfect and you buck your hips hard to make him whimper your designation. And even though your wrists are bound to the headboard bars you move to put your pedes against the berth and thrust up with your hips, up into the sultry form made of curves and lewd promise that is Prowl and he howls your name.

Its a slick and sticky mess, and the sounds do nothing but drive your charge higher and higher as he rides your erratic motion like a highway pursuit and now its him begging and pleading and rolling his optics back until he overloads with a static-painted scream and you follow with no hesitation-

Your plating rattled with the final shudder and you drop offline, nothing but his hum of enjoyment purring through your audial receptors.


	43. Just My Style

You knew why he liked it- loved it even.

It had nothing to do with the role reversal; a feared criminal, a vicious Decepticon, held at bay with kevlar-ropes and a cold word from a spindly Kimian scientist who was normally too nervous to speak above a murmur.

Well, maybe a little to do with that.

You knew, though, that most of it was feeling wanted. Desired. More than simply there.

And so, you gave in to both of your darker urges and bound his wrists behind his back; nipped his lipplates as you kissed him, let your servos creep around his throat components and squeeze ever so carefully. And you break him down to his atoms like the simplification of an equation until he gasps and whimpers your name with glazed optics and rattling plating and you coo to him-

You tell him you love him. You call him yours. You kiss him senseless and ride him ever harder as he strains against his bonds and chokes on your very name.

And when he’s nearly spent, when his legs are quivering, you push him a little harder, a little further, until his optics spark and his vocalizer shorts out. Until he’s knocked offline and you aren’t much better.

And you untie his bonds from where you straddle him (an easy reach, you’ve always been lanky and taller than him) as he reboots in a blink and he sits up, still inside you- still lighting up your sensornet and wraps his arms around you and murmurs his grateful words against your plating and rocks his hips once more, twice more and you’re gone.

You lose yourself in his trust as the pair of you rock together and your whispery moans make his plating ruffle.


	44. Limits

_“That’s four.”_

Drift wailed your designation into the air again, claws gouging the berth’s surface as you held his face against it. Armor crashed against each other as you drove him down into the berth like a screw in the cog of the war machine, and you gritted your dentae together as he wailed through another overload.

Your hips jerked back, pulling free of him to make him whine and whimper and shudder from the sudden loss as his valve clenched on emptiness and you rolled him onto his back; drinking in his unfocused white gaze and the glossa that hung out of his mouth in a near-drunken stupor.

Your servos gripped behind his knees, and you grinned like the Devil himself as you bent his far too flexible frame nearly in half and slam your spike in as deep as it can go to make his back arch as he gags on his own invents.

_“Five.”_

You can feel the tremble in his legs as you introduce his knees nearly to his audials; as his servos twitch from his lack of coordination.

He can’t even hold on for the ride.

Somewhere in your processor, you were impressed. Usually by three overloads he was shuddering and bucking and begging for a break, but not tonight. Tonight he had been sprawled on the berth, panting and too warm and reaching for you with trembling servos with purrs and lewd promises on his lipplates.

And you had decided to deliver, in spades.

And here he was, blind by his own desire and whispering for more as your thrusts grew erratic, as you swallowed down a whine of his designation and as his voice climbed the register higher and higher until it broke like a wave of white noise around your name and his valve clenched hard around your spike and he dragged you down into heated oblivion with him.

His optics sparked after beaming bright white and rolling back into his helm as you curled over him, spike throbbing in climax and shakily releasing his legs from your hold.

They dropped to the berth, limp and twitching like a rabbit’s run and you leaned to rest your helm against his chestplate.

You hear the wheeze of cooling fans spinning just shy of their highest setting, and snickered to yourself.

You were both going to feel this in the morning.


	45. Conversations

“It’s part of my beliefs… but it drives me up the WALL somedays…”

“Like today?”

“YES.”

The tiny magnalock on Wing’s panels was being glared at in the flier’s reflection. The jet sighed heavily, leaning back against Deadlock.

“I want to be able t experience you as a LOVER… but, my duties as a Knight-”

“Lovers don’t need to frag to be lovers, Wing.”

Wing turned in the loose embrace, Deadlock’s arms shifting to accommodate the artistic flares and plating of the flier’s hips, “But-”

“There are many ways t’be physically intimate that don’t require interface; hello.”, chuckled Deadlock, kissing Wing’s cheek, “Hell, I’ve had lovers that had no interest in that kinda thing, or just flat-out couldn’t do it.”

“But… then how…?”

“I can show you, if you want. It’s all up t’you though Wing.”, said Deadlock gently, more gentle than he’d ever show outside their shared flat, “Not too sure who put it in your head that y’had to organ joust t’show love, but they can get torqued all the same.” 

“…Dai Atlas said- Nevermind…”

“Nah, sweetspark, tell me. I’ve noticed there’s some stuff you’ve wanted to ask, but y’been nervous about. You always told me honesty can save you, yeah?”

Wing nodded, suddenly shy. Deadlock stepped away, sitting on the berth and scooting back to cross his legs, patting beside him.

“Talk t’me.”

Wing followed, hesitant at first but perching on the berth edge all the same.

“Dai Atlas warned me against taking a Decepticon as a lover, you see…”, said Wing quietly, “He said your kind was forceful, rough, and prone to having many and loving few.”

“Typical Autobot philosophy.”, snorted Deadlock.

“He said you were a heathenous group, engaging in extravagance and all manner of sin and-”, Wing took a deep breath, “He said that given your… past, you would be more likely to uhm.. f-force me.”

“Cos I was a guttermech, right?”, asked Deadlock simply.

Wing nodded, “I didn’t believe him, I couldn’t. While yes, you can be snippy and rather… feline in your habits-”

“Hey, I’m not-”

“You fell asleep upside down on the couch because you lay in a light beam too long, Deadlock.”

“….Got me there.”

“Anyway, while you can be rather feline in your habits, you’ve never been cruel to me. Angry, yes. Cold, occasionally… But you’ve never acted the way he claimed you would.”

Deadlock nodded, “Well yeah. The Decepticons started from a desire t’have a choice, Wing. A choice in how our lives would go. Why’n the hell would we take choice from anyone else? Yeah, we got our slagheaps and broken bolts, but we aren’t Mortilian spawn.”

Deadlock vented softly, “Wi’regards to the havin’ many and lovin’ few? It’s just how we were. We had out partners, yes, but then we had our… friend-lovers so t’speak. Physical intimacy, warrior’s cofort, call it what you will. But after a day ‘f seeing my brother’s in arms fall, or worse; be taken captive t’be rewired? we needed that kinda closeness. Kinda like those organic creatures y’read about… hell’re they called-”

“Lions?”

“Yeah those.”

Wing nodded.

“If your partner told ya they wren’t comfy with you doin’ that? You either stopped, or talked it out to find a compromise.”

“Oh.”, said Wing quietly, looking at his thigh as he thought to himself.

Deadlock nodded, “Some Cons weren’t interested in fraggin’. It’s a thing. Held nothin’ for ‘em y’know? There are other ways t’physically show you love a mech; an’ other ways t’enjoy physical intimacies.”

“Oh?”

“Seekers are a good example.”

Wing drew back, his namesake flaring and twitching slightly.

“I know, I know, y’ve prob’ly heard terribe things about how Seekers are just walkin’ frame fetishes an’ fragtoys. But that’s wrong. A lot ‘f Autobots think that, y’see, because Seekers would preen in groups. Sometimes large ones, sometimes just a trine, sometimes just a pair of them in an out of the way place.”

“They would?”

“Mhm. Sometimes you hear one get a little TOO excited and then y’learned t’cover your audials. Preferably with rocks, or by shovin’ a bullet in each one an’ prayin’.”, said Deadlock, scratching just under one of his finials with a wince.

“Why?”

“Supersonic vocalizer mods. Seekers get real, REAL shrill when they uh… y’know.”

“Wait, from preening?”

“Well, yeah? Soft touches, sensitive circuitry, touch the right spot enough times and y’damn right it can happen. Same as with a mech like me; get under the shoulderplates an’ I’m putty in your hands.”

Wing’s optics grew wide, “Dai Atlas told me-”

“Lemme guess; if y’feel arousal from being touched gently it meas your a dirty heathenous sinner, right?”

“….In a more wordier way, yes.”

“Dai Atlas also told you I was gonna force myself on you. Only thing I forced is you off the couch so I could nap. An’ even then you TICKLED me. YOU TICKLED ME. Rude.”

Wing burst into laughter at the memory.

Deadlock smiled, “So, if you want physical intimacy? We can do that. I ain’t gonna force you to abandon part of your beliefs, especially if you hold it dear t’your spark. Wouldn’t be right of me. If you choose later to get rid of it, more power to ya. But right now, we can find a workaround. Only if you want to.”

“I do want to.”

Deadlock grinned, leaning forward to catch Wing’s chin with his servos, “Alright then.”

Wing’s wings flared when he was kissed, before dropping limply against his back as his own hands moved to Deadlock’s chestplate.

The flier was ever fond of learning new things…


	46. #1 Crush

Deadlock was… for the first time, nervous.

Sure, several times during his and Wing’s bedroom shenanigans, the flier’s chestplate had unlocked, letting the honey-amber glow of his spark wash over Deadlock. And every time, his finials would fall and his servos would tremble as he traced the edge of the spark chamber, ran a finger over the casing.

Tentative, awed, and fearful.

That Wing trusted him so implicitly, so comepletely-

And here he was, sprawled on his back and fighting the urge to unlatch his chestplate and return the favor; for the slightest hope he could show Wing how much he…

He loved him.

He loved the Knight, with all he had.

It terrified him; he wasn’t sure why.

Wing looked down on him, sparkshine glinting through the seams on his chestpate when Deadlock lifted his hand, placed it against the smooth living steel.

_“Not tonight.”_

“Hm?”

Click, click, hiss….

Wing gasped, and Deadlock looked away, finials nearly flat as his chestplate eased slowly open.

_“…It’s nowhere near like yours… but..”  
_

_“You’re beautiful.”_

Deadlock jolted, looking back at Wing with something like hope in his optics.

Wing leaned down, straddling Deadlock’s waist as he did. Deft servos, gentle touches traced around the opening of the spark chamber, sending a buzz along Deadlock’s sensornet and making his plating shiver. Wing’s servos wove through the deep burgundy corona surrounding the heavy gold spark; traced along the interior of the casing as he leaned to kiss the trembling Decepticon.

Servos slid deeper into Deadlock’s spark chamber as he broke his kiss with Wing, gasping hoarsely as his sensornet roared to life. Wing moved so their lipplates were brushing.

_“Trust me, lovermine.”_

Deadlock moaned as the cables in the walls of the sparkchamber were stroked and tweaked almost too well.

_“Trust me, lovermine, let me make you feel good.”_

Deadlock whined Wing’s name, and then his sensornet was on fire- or as close to it as it could be. His back arched, his servos dug into the berth and he shuddered hard enough to skew some of his plating as overload washed to and fro over him-

The room when static grey; and he faintly felt Wing’s servos withdraw and coax the chestplate closed.

Deadlock groaned, his frame still buzzing as Wing moved off of him to settle beside him. A nuzzle under a crooked finial.

_“Beautiful.”_

Deadlock rolled heavily onto his side, wrapping his arm around Wing and pulling him close.

The last words spoken were Deadlock’s, words that made Wing hold onto him that much tighter.

_**“Thank you.”** _


	47. Ease It Off

Rodimus trembled in Magnu- no, Maximus’s lap now; his chesplates open, spark glimmering like a dwarf star as massive servos traced the edge of the sparkchamber so carefully; so tenderly. Rodimus arched his backstruts with a soft moan, pronged toes spreading as his hips rocked from the sensations.

Magnus- no, Maximus now, chuckled low in his chest as Rodimus writhed in his lap and gave off those tiny sounds; the soft whimpers laced in static and desire and all things sinful.

Rodimus himself, could be sinful.

But in these moments, he was a mech; just a mech, wanting to be loved, to be cherished… to not be blamed.

A servo dipped in, brushing the bright corona of the bared spark and kicking Rodimus’s voice into a higher pitch.

Maximus hummed into the room, repeating the action; this time with two servos.

_“M-Ma-gs…”_

The old nickname.

Maximus grinned, servojoints grazing the wall of Rodimus’s sparkchamber and lighting up his sensornet in overload. Rodimus moaned into the room like silk and honey and all things decadent and delicous and Maximus vented softly.

As Rodimus’s trembles quickly smoothed themselves, Maximus traced the rim of the sparkchamber comfortingly… and dipped in again, pressing against the inset cabling and making Rodimus cry out in a delirious kind of pleasure.

His smile was gentle as Rodimus arched yet again with a whispered  _“Please!”_

He shuttered his optics, and settled into the sounds that poured from the mech on his lap.


	48. Privacy

Ratchet stepped through the habsuite door, opening his mouth to call for Drift- and fell immediately silent.

Soft gasps, the slosh of liquid, a heady moan wavering up to his audials like a whisper of promise. He hummed in his throat, letting the door hiss shut behind him as he walked further into the habsuite, padding quietly to the closed washrack door.

He pressed his hands, sore and scuffed and careful, against the doorframe and leaned to rest his audial against the door.

A whimper, a whine, the sound of liquid spilling over the edge of a tub’s rim.

Carefully, carefully, he eased the door open; he bit hard on his lipplate to stay quiet, crossing his arms over his chestplate.

Drift sprawled in the tub, servos working quickly over spike and valve and hitting all those too-good spots that made Drift’s voice sound out in high whines and heady groans as he writhed and squirmed. As he rode the motions of his trembling servos and as his hips bucked and displaced the liquid he soaked in, splashing it over the edge to soak the floor.

Ratchet crept in, kneeling by the tub to watch Drift’s expression; shuttered optics, slack jaw and flicking plating-

“When ya said you were gettin’ _ready_ , I didn’t think you meant _this._ ”, murmured the medic, wondering if Drift could hear him through his focus.

Drift’s back arched and a needy sound dripped from him like a viscous liquid; like the transfluid that dripped along the length of his spike.

Ratchet swallowed hard, pretending to forget how high the sensitivity on his hands still was as he slipped them into the bath; as he brushed Drift’s hands away and the speedster’s legs spread wider.

Hazed blue optics unshuttered, looking down over a slick and shivering frame to whine hungrily as hips tilted in a wordless plea.

Ratchet hissed an exvent, focusing on keeping both his voice silent as well as his hands active- as he traced the biolights along Drift’s spike to make the swordsmech grip the edge of the tub like a lifeline. Ratchet grinned, giving a slow squeeze to the base to hear the rattle of cooling fans jump up another setting.

The medic’s other hand pressed two servos against the twitching valve; Ratchet couldn’t help the sinful little hum of enjoyment that escaped him as calipers cycled down immediately, desperately.

Slow and heavy strokes as well as two, then three crooked servos had Drift spitting static and gasping Ratchet’s name; had the speedster arching his back and rolling and bucking his hips as he chased sensation. Ratchet pressed a thumb to the glimmering anterior node, quick circles with the digit mismatched with the slow thrusts of his other digits.

Drift’claws screeched over the tub’s edge; his voice bounced from octave to octave in a never-ending climb until his calipers cycle down, his spike throbbed in Ratchet’s grip-

And everything Drift was came cascading down with sharp, high wail. The swordmech’s body curled from the force of his overload as he babbled gibberish- only Ratchet’s name and  _“Please don’t stop!”_ discernible from static and disjointed syllables.

Ratchet shivered, swallowing hard as he coaxed Drift back down from his climax, watching the lion-graceful fluidity of motion return as Drift sank back into a lounging position in the tub.

Ratchet withdrew his (now shaking) hands.

Drift’s optics cleared their half-offline grey and he looked to Ratchet with all the cunning of bobcat at midnight.

_“…Care for another round? I believe it’s your turn now, Ratch.”_ , he purred.


	49. Hassle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HUBSCHRAUBERS asked: “ did she/he make a pass at you? ” blitzmegs >w>

“Zhey made a pass at me?”

Megatron nodded slowly, optics narrow.

“Jou are ribbing me, aren’t you.”, laughed Blitzwing, waving his hand carelessly, “I am hardly desirable, Megatron.”

“Oh, but you are.”, purred the warlord, flexing servos and tapping them in a dirges rhythm, “And they have clearly recognized it. I pray, for their sake, they decide to tastefully avoid making further comments.”

“Oho, going to defend my honor now?”

Blitzwing gasped when digits cupped his chin, and Megatron nodded silently as he brushed a thumb over Blitzwing’s lips.

“I do not take lightly to my lovers being _hassled.”_


	50. Disturbance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GUTTERMECH asked: ' tell me i have nothing to worry about' with Booflock and Vampercy

You felt eyes on you with every pathetic pass- every slide of dead hands on silk, over winglets, along your jaw. You knew the motions, you memorized the lines eons ago.

You thank them for their attention, you sidestep their affection, and you pass on to the next damned soul as the low hum of a musical masquerade covers the click of your steps.

You were a master of social blending.

Until it came to Deadlock.

Deadlock, who flicked his ears and looked awkwardly away at compliments even as his cocky laugh rumbled through the air. He was a living center in a crowd of dead and dying and everlasting.

The wineglass in your hand trembled as you watched, and Brainstorm put a careful hand on yours.

“Sire?”

Deadlock jumped, a nervous chuckle as a hand landed on his hip, and something in you snapped. Like the overtuned strings on a violin, like the haul on the rope from a body hanging like fruit something snapped within you and you saw red. The glass in your grip shattered and you stepped into the shadow of heavy window curtains only to step out from behind Deadlock and lock his “tormentors” as you called them with a frigid and deadly stare.

They have angered one far older than them.

Deadlock turned the second you stepped forth and grinned in his half-cocked way.

“Hey Percy.”

You reached out, hands flickering between aristocratic paleness and the gnarled claws of the Grim Reaper as your glamour skittered like a glitched monitor and you pulled him close. His grin never faded, even as you leaned down to kiss him- lips like tulip petals in a mausoleum as they ghosted over his.

When you straightened, he leaned against you, tail swaying in the lightest of wags and he peered at the crowd smugly.

“Surely, no one here would be _foolish_ enough to make such an _egregious_ error as to make passes at someone **who is spoken for.** ”, Percy ground out, his voice rasped like broken rose thorns and old spellbook pages.

Deadlock snickered, looking up at Percy.

“Is this where I tell ya you don’t have anything to worry about?”, he murmured, nuzzling his cold lover.

“Precisely. This is also where I ignore that and remind these idiots just _WHO_ is in charge…. _Messily, if I must.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is using an AU created by guttermech.tumblr.com; I do not claim credit for the versions of the characters used herein.


	51. Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TANKFAIRY asked: 'is there someone else' w driftceptor??

They fought like storm cells meeting. They clashed like thunderheads, they broke walls and furniture and hearts and snarled back and forth.

“WHAT HAS GOTTEN **INTO** YOU?!”, howled Perceptor, clutching his helm, “WHAT DO YOU **WANT** FROM ME?!”

_**“WHO IS IT?!”** _

Perceptor froze, squinting his optic.

Drift’s plating flared, optics wild and scared, “Tell me, tell me the truth… who is it. Is there someone else? Brainstorm? Ratchet?”

“Drift… what?”, asked Perceptor in confusion, “Someone else…? Who would there be?”

Drift’s servos were curled into shaking fists, “Please, Percy. Don’t.. Don’t pretend I don’t hurt you. Don’t act like I’m just so good for you, we both know that isn’t true. We _BOTH_ know.”

“Drift what are you _talking_ about?”

Perceptor’s hands were hesitant after they dropped from where they clutched a black helm. He reached out, gesturing Drift closer.

With wary steps, the swordsmech moved closer; ever closer, until Perceptor’s arms were around him.

“I make too many mistakes for you to love **me** this much.”

“Drift…”, sighed Perceptor, “My forgiveness has no fine print. It is unconditional. You have made mistakes… but that does not mean I love you any less than I did all those years ago.”

Perceptor held his shaking lover tight.

“There will _never_ be anyone else for me. I swear. I’m only yours.”

Drift’s claws clicked softly over Perceptor’s plating, “….Say it again. _**Please**_ say it again.”

“I’m always and forever only _ **yours.”**_


	52. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VIISIVARVASLAISKIAINEN asked: To that possessive meme; Wrift with "You're mine, you hear me." Wing saying that (not SG!Verse, please.) :'3c *hides*

“He _touched_ you.”, said Wing coolly.

Deadlock grinned where he sat on the couch. Legs crossed, he shrugged.

“Ye, so what?”, he purred, “Maybe I liked it.”

Wing’s expression went furious- his namesake twitching and shifting as he strode forward. Deadlock made a softly surprised noise as Wing straddled the Con’s lap, pressing far too close far too quickly.

Deadlock shuddered, lifting his hands to put them on Wing’s hips and like a flash of lightning the Knight moved. He grabbed Deadlock’s wrists, pinning the mech’s hands against the back of the couch as he nuzzled Deadlock’s throat.

“Did you now.”

“M-Maybe.”, gasped Deadlock, back arching as Wing moved to nip the cabling of the Con’s throat, “Can’t a mech like being t-ah… Nngh.”

Wing’s teeth, tiny flier’s fangs, pinched a cable and tugged lightly before releasing it.

“You’re _mine,_ do you _hear_ me?”, growled Wing, his optics glowing like molten gold and hellfire, “ _None_ will touch you that way- **save for me.”**

His engine revved and he kissed Deadlock hard, pressing the mech into the couch as his hips dipped and panels slid against each other. Deadlock moaned fluidly; his body arching against Wing again as Wing swallowed his agreement down like ambrosia.


	53. Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> APOCALYPSE-ON-LEGS asked: “ you’re too good for her/him ” please with PercyRatch back in the day, when Ratchet and Pharma were still close~?

“You’re too good for him, you know.”, said Pharma in a voice like old axle grease, slick and sticky and cloying, “You deserve so much better. Another medic, perhaps. Someone without his helm in the stars and his faceplates in a book.”

“But I want someone who daydreams the galaxy, Pharma.”, said Ratchet flatly, “He makes me happy- keeps me sane some days.”

“But what about when he tires of you, hm? Moves on, chases someone bigger like they always do- you know how scientists are. Lovers like theories, a new one every week.”

“He isn’t like that. He’s not one to cycle through partners, Pharma- he rarely even takes them anymore. It was almost cute, finding out I was his first kiss in seven millennia.”

“Oho, one of THOSE mechs. The Party Ambulance strikes again.”

“It’s not like that, he’s DIFFERENT Pharma.”, said Ratchet in exasperation, “He’s sweet and calm, he listens to me… he has this laugh, its just… its the best sound I’ve ever heard.”

Pharma looked disgusted for a moment before his expression went rudely amused, “Aw, precious. But what are you going to do when he finds out about your… reputation, hm? When he runs off, terrified? Some of things you… _WE_ have gotten up to are sure to scare the plating right off his a-”

“He knows.”

“What?”

“He knows about all of it. I told him myself- I wanted to make sure he was alright with my past, let him know I was clean.”

“You were- why would he…?”

“Because that’s what you do when you’ve partied like a wildmech before maybe wanting to settle down.”, said Ratchet quietly, “I didn’t want him to be nervous when I took him to berth.”

“You WHAT?!”

Ratchet looked at Pharma, the smile that blossomed from the sudden outburst from the flier wry and knowing and sly, “What’s wrong, Pharma? Are you jealous?”

Pharma turned on his heel and stalked out of Ratchet’s quarters.


	54. Downtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: For the prompts: A change in perception moment, either the moment Rodimus and Drift first saw each other as real friends, or Drift being suddenly smacked upside the head with the realization that Perceptor isn't amazingly at what he puts his mind to- he's amazingly hot too.

_I’m not yours, and you’re not **mine**  
But we can sit, and pass the **time** …_

Perceptor was…. He was something alright.

Drift tilted his helm, watching the scientist softly explain to Springer what the grinding noise in the engines was being caused by as he meticulously broke down his rifle to clean it. 

Finials twitched.

Springer nodded, grumbling to himself and sighing a vent heavily as he clapped a hand on Perceptor’s shoulder before leaving the sniper’s side with heavy and thudding steps.

Drift moved closer.

He watched scuffed servos move with a mind of their own, comfortably dim optics watching in half interest.

“…I could probably up the output of our engines by twenty-three percent if I… Hmmm..”

Drift’s helm jerked up, looking at Perceptor’s suddenly thoughtful face. Lip components pursed in thought, the soft edges of a contemplative frown. And then…

Perceptor glanced up.

And he smiled.

“Oh, Drift! Apologies, I didn’t notice you there. Is everything alright?”

Drift felt his spark thud heavily at Perceptor’s expression- that small smile, that shy glimpse into the gentleness hidden by a sniper’s skill- by a scientist’s knowledge.

“I’m fine, Percy, just uh… just relaxing.”

“Oh, alright. Apologies again, for how quiet I get. I’m easily wrapped up in my work.”

A soft chuckle, and Perceptor’s gaze returned to his rifle.

Drift felt his finials heat, the image of that shy smile lodged in his processor permanently.

He decided, then and there… he wanted to see it again.


	55. You and Me and the Devil Make Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> APOCALYPSE-ON-LEGS asked: Writing prompt please?... Brainstorm: World's Okay-est Wingman?

Brainstorm massaged his temples, staring blankly at Perceptor.

The scientist sat at the bar, between Drift and Ratchet, laughing in that quiet way Brainstorm was familiar. He called it the “Scope Snicker”; it was a laugh that many of the microscopes at Kimia (and other places) had- an out of the way kind of chuckle, as though they were trying to fade into the background…

He shook his helm lightly, dispersing that train of thought.

Back to the Current Situation: or, how he had ended up having a conversation with Drift, and then RATCHET, earlier that month.

Conversations BOTH centering on PERCEPTOR.

He couldn’t fault either of them, honestly: Perceptor was, well, attractive! Lean lines and broad shapes, a soft voice and a sharp wit- and an absolutely VICIOUS sense of sarcasm, nearly tangible and acidic when he really unleashed…

Which, Brainstorm knew, was after one too many bit-too-strong cocktails.

Both of them held feelings for the red-plated sniper- and both were equally fretful about said feelings, wanting to pursue them but not knowing how. Brainstorm had guided them the best he could, but there was one thing NONE of them had remembered to take into account.

Perceptor’s own stubborn. Afted. _**POLITENESS.**_

He had confided in Brainstorm after two or so weeks of soft flirtations that, though he cared very deeply for both the CMO and the swordsmech, that he simply could not bear to cause a rift in Drift and Ratchet’s borderline-amicahood.

Brainstorm groused to himself. He was the galaxy’s greatest scientist, how is being a WINGMECH the one thing that is stumping him? For Primus’s sake, _HE ACTUALLY HAS **WINGS.**_

And then it hit him. The one way to barrel through Perceptor’s cool wall of icy mist and arctic building blocks…

_A hotter-than-molten-lead idea._

Brainstorm nearly LEAPT to his feet, and sauntered over to the trio. He nodded at both Drift and Ratchet when they glanced at him, before leaning heavily on Perceptor’s unadorned shoulder.

“Hey, Percy.”

“Bloody hell- Brainstorm, _please._ My backstruts are still sore from someone’s acid spill in the lab today.”

“Sorry about that but- Percy, can i just, y’know, ask you something?”

“Uhm… yes?”

“So, you think Ratch and Drift are pretty smokin’ right?”

_**“Brainstorm.”** _

“Answer the question, Percy- c’mon, its for science, there’s a point to this I swear!”

“…Very well. Yes, I find them both attractive.”

“And you think they’re both real sweetsparks, right?”

“………Y-Yes.”

“And you know they’re both cool with each other, right?”

“Yes, I do, what **OF IT** Brainstorm?”

“Well, y’see, Cons had this thing, so to speak. One mech sometimes had one partner; or two, or even three! Everyone knew everyone, no secrets now, and they got along fine. I hear Wreckers did it occasionally too, r i g h t?”

Perceptor’s faceplates were hot as he stared at the bar counter.

Brainstorm looked from Drift, to Ratchet.

_::What d’you two think? Double-team Science Made Sexy or nah?::_ , cackled Brainstorm over a three-way commline.

_::Primus.::_ , was Ratchet’s answer, _::I’m an old mech here, I’ll end up havin’ a spark attack or something; go easy on me.::_

_::So, you’re admitting I got you beat in the ‘Make Percy Scream’ department, hm?::_ , was Drift’s sneaky reply. He winked over Perceptor’s bowed helm.

_::Oho, kid, watch it now. This is the Party Ambulance you’re tryin’ to sass.::_

_::Then let’s give it a shot, yeah?::_

_::I S’pose we could try it out, see where it leads. But only if Perceptor is alright with i-::_

“I know you lot are conspiring over comms.”, said Perceptor.

All three of the others froze.

“Brainstorm.”

“Aha, y-yes Perceptor?”

“You are, without a doubt, the _ **WORST** WINGMECH_ I have ever seen.”, sighed the sniper, toying with his glass shyly, “But… I will admit. You are effective- or at least, you have interesting solutions.”

Ratchet hooked an arm around Perceptor’s waist, and Drift grinned wolfishly.

“So Percy.”, began Drift, inspecting his claws.

“My place, or Drift’s?”, finished Ratchet.

“Cause we got some uh… Hypotheses we’d like to test.”

Brainstorm slunk away, far-too-proud of himself for the evening as he was followed by Perceptor softly whispering, “O-Oh my.”

* * *


	56. Quantum Joy Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: Quantum physics probably shouldn't be used for joy riding, and Drift is transported to the G1 verse because reasons. Drift/G1 Perceptor ensues because Percy is a precious cinnamon roll who saves everyone's ass all the time and is so happy and kind, and is treated like shit and Drift doesn't appreciate that. Also maybe some bro feels with Hot Rod and maybe Blurr because they'd probably also do better if their self esteem wasn't routinely ground under their team mate's heels

Drift winced as he creaked his optics open.

“Oh dear, oh dear, this was NOT EXPECTED… Get me Ratchet, IMMEDIATELY!”

He knew that voice. He knew the university lilt.

“Outta the way, get OUTTA THE WAY SLAGGIT.”

And that one.

Drift forced his optics online fully after a few moments and slowly sat up. He heard the beep of scans, felt the click of a jack in his forearm.

“Mildly radioactive, but nothing too terrible.”, grumbled Ratchet, easing up from creaking knees, “I better go alert Prowl and the Prime that we.. accidentally got an entire mech.”

“Of course, of course. I’ll keep him with me.”

Drift turned, looking… down?

Unscuffed plating, soft features. No reticule or sneer to be seen.

Perceptor, or one hell of a weird mimic, looked back up to him and smiled like a summer breeze.

“Hello. My designation is P-”

“Perceptor, scientist and astrophysicist and lover of jellies with powdered zinc- even though everyone tells you they’re too bitter.”

“How… how did you….?”

“The Perceptor I know.”, said Drift softly.

“The… Perceptor you know?”

“Yes. Uhm… How to put this… My Perceptor is… uh… Well, he’s a lot taller than you, for one.”

“Most mechs are, its no bother.”

Drift snickered, he couldn’t help it. The bouncy way this Perceptor spoke was… well, it was cute. He had to admit it. Nothing like the aloof and bitterly sarcastic Perceptor he knew.

“And he’s a Wrecker. Well, ex-Wrecker now.”

“Wh-What?!”, yelped this new form of Perceptor, “A-A Wrecker?! Oh no, oh good heavens he must be utterly TERRIFYING.”

“He’s actually just really sarcastic. And tired.”

“…Well, I can agree with him there.”

Drift snorted.

“A-Anyway, Prowl will comm me if he needs to see you. Perhaps I can show you around the ship?”

“I think I’d like that, Percy.”

Drift grinned, rather enjoying the sudden glimmer of color over Small Perceptor’s faceplates when he purred the nickname- were those… freckles?

They were, tiny tickmarks on the metal of faceplating that showed when the core temperature rose in their version of a blush.

“O-Oh, uhm, r-right this way then! I-It would be best to get out of the engine room, no doubt!”

“Lead on Percy; you got my undivided attention.”

The muffled and shy squeak was worth letting his voice’s timbre drop to its old tone.


	57. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: Prompt: Ratchet with night terrors?

_Phantasmagoria, feeding the **hysteria**_   
_Smoke and mirrors, make your **escape**_   
_**Heretics** and sleight of hand_   
_The **poltergeists** are back again_   
_And now we’re sleeping, sleeping with the **lights on…**_

Recharge was always rough for an old mech.

But… then the nightmares started.

And then… the terrors.

It took a lot, it took dangerous sedation and blaring alarms; but Ratchet powered through them. He learned to keep his optics shuttered and force himself to breathe. He learned to not move until the tremors passed, until the screams building in his vocalizer moved along to nervous jitters and finally faded.

But.. then one night, his own processor tricked him.

_“Raaaaatch. Hey Raaaaaaaaaaaatch.”_

_“Hmn, Drift wha- ‘s late why aren’t you-”_

Then he remembered Drift… wasn’t on the ship. He’d gone on shore leave, with Rodimus and Perceptor and why is his voice chiming in the room?

Ratchet unshuttered his optics.

Glimmering, burning red. That siren song of his name being trilled into the room and out of shadows leered-

Deadlock.

The voice’s timbre dropped into the pits, and the smile was shattered church windows and blown mortars.

_“Sleepin’ **well,** old medic?”, _ growled the face looming out of the darkness,  _“Sleepin’ **peaceful?** Even with **me** runnin’ round and round your processor- me, the bastard y’fixed up with such **good** intentions.”_

Ratchet felt his vocalizer lock up, his limbs shaking and then scrambling to push him back against the berth’s headboard.

_“Didja forget what the road ta hell is paved in, sweetspark?”_ , snarled the vision, the nightmare, the beast in between the sleeping and the dead.

The thud of a pede, and Deadlock’s figure was pulling itself from the shadows into the dim light from the unshuttered window; and Ratchet finally found his voice.

He didn’t have a chance to cut it off before he screamed. He screeched like he was dying, pressed back against the headboard and wailing 

_“Ratchet, Ratchet; ain’t a spark t’hear you **scream.”**_

And he was close, too close, Ratchet could count the tips of fangs and the cracks in optics and he howled for help- Deadlock raised a clawed hand and brought it down like a guillotine blade.

**_“RATCHET!”_ **

The medic gagged, his eyes opening as his vents dumped heat. He scrambled to sit up, Perceptor’s hands on his shoulders and Drift terrified in the doorway. The medic looked around the room- mind suddenly foggy and blank with the croon of his name in a voice he couldn’t remember already fading from his memory bank.

“Wh-What.. what happened, why..”

“You were screaming, Ratchet.”, said Perceptor softly as Drift leaned out the door, talking quietly before closing it, “You were screaming and thrashing, you near cracked your chestplate with how you were moving. Drift was patrolling the halls and heard you yelling our designations, commed me. I arrived as soon as I could.”

“I… I don’t…”

“Can you remember what was happening? Were you dreaming?”

“No. I don’t remember a damn thing.”, murmured the medic, “Nothing, just feeling… afraid. It was probably just a bad dream, is all.”

Perceptor frowned, perching on the edge of the berth, “If this happens again, you are to see Rung, do you understand?”

Ratchet opened his mouth to argue, and Perceptor’s optic scope whirred.

“Not a _word_ of sass from you, old mech. If this happens again, you go to Rung as soon as you can or I will drag you myself.”

Ratchet huffed, nodding, suddenly tired.

Perceptor stood, looking to Drift and nodding for the swordsmech to slip out the door, Perceptor following. The sniper moved to flick off the light, and Ratchet spoke up.

“Leave it. Leave it on.”

“Alright. Remember your promise.”

“Yes sir _Mister_ Wrecker sir.”, was the sarcastic reply and Perceptor rolled his optic.

Ratchet waited as they left his berthroom, and then his suite. He huffed and grumbled, embarrassed by the events and flopped onto his side- his helm hit the pillow and he was out like a light.

Soft snores rumbled through his habsuite and then-

_“Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaatcheeeeeeeeeeeet…”_

His optics opened.

Something _smiled._


	58. Get Wrek'd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> METEORFEST asked: perceptor and drift ganging up on rodimus. context up to you, but tease the heck out of rodimus and make the captain blush.

Rodimus arched his backstruts, gasping as his hips jerked and rolled and he tried desperately to squirm and thrash like his body told him to. Perceptor laughed, soft and dark and wicked by his audial and letting war-roughened servos stroke over the microseams and near-rattling plating over the CoCaptain’s stomach and chest and thighs.

Drift grinned from where he knelt, lapping at a throbbing and gold-accented spike.

“Sssssh, lovie.”, purred Perceptor, “Let us take care of you, hm?”

Rodimus whined low in his throat- Drift’s glossa pressing at the emission port at the tip of his painfully hard spike. The CoCaptain looked down, pulling at his bound wrists and whimpering in his throat when the softbound cables gave him no slack.

“That’s right, sweetspark- only the pretty little noises for us, yeah?”, purred Drift before nuzzling Rodimus’s twitching left thigh.

Perceptor nipped at Rodimus’s neck, rocking his own hips and shifting the spike buried in Rodimus’s valve to make the brightly-colored mech’s mouth drop open with a moan. Rodimus’s glossa draped out of his mouth as he panted, optics blurring as he felt just how deeply seated Perceptor was.

“Frag me, fr-rag me please I can’t-”

“Oh, you can, lovie.”, hissed Perceptor, his hands moving to Rodimus’s waist. He lifted the smaller mech just enough to drop him heavily down onto the spike the Captain had been seated on for what felt like hours and wringing a staticked cry from Rodimus’s throat.

A whine, and Rodimus leaned forward only to feel Drift’s glossa start back up, lapping the drips and drops of transfluid from the shaft of his spike. Rodimus nearly convulsed, letting his helm hang forward now as he whimpered and pleaded without words.

Drift purred, lipplates closing around the head of Rodimus’s spike and giving a hard suck.

Rodimus wailed like he was dying, feeling transfluid leak just a little faster from the tip of his spike and every breath was a soft cry for more.

Drift moved away, licking his lips and smiling almost serenely.

“Hmn…”

Perceptor glanced at him, optic ridge quirked.

“Frag him hard Percy, just like that.”, purred Drift, sitting with his legs crossed and a wicked glint in his optics, “And when you’re done… its my turn.”

“Wh…aaa…”, moaned Rodimus, managing to sluggishly move his helm up as he tugged at the bonds around his wrists.

Perceptor’s hands gripped golden thighs and lifted the limp-framed Captain, only to pull him back down onto that same spike yet again. Rodimus wailed out, optics rolling back and shuttering and Perceptor purred from the flutter of callipers around the shaft.

“Excellent idea, Drift darling.”

“Whoever offlines him doesn’t pay for drinks for the next week."

Rodimus was dimly aware of being held back against Perceptor’s chestplate, and he whimpered through static before Perceptor leaned back just enough, just a touch-

And rolled his hips to drive his spike hard into the writhing mech straddling his lap.

And oh, Rodimus screamed like he was falling from grace with a drunken smile even as his head lolled back against Perceptor’s shoulder and he could do nothing but feel.

And Drift watched, hungry and wanting, waiting for his turn to break his captain down into burnt matchsticks and tinder.

* * *


	59. Behind Locked Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ROBO-HUNTER-CHAIM asked: Driftceptor, 10, for the link meme, please

Outside of their hab; they each wore separate masks. 

They had faces they showed to the crew- one cold, one warm. One humorless, one happy.

Outside of the hab, they were Perceptor and Drift.

But inside, everything changed. Inside the hab, they were love and banter- they were affection and something occasionally a little more rough. No one would be able to really rationalize the picture they set right now, upon the berth.

No one would really be able to overlay the image of “No Mercy Percy” with the writhing and gasping figure on the berth- his wrists bound to the headboard and his legs held open and exposed. They wouldn’t be able to match up the sounds shuddering from Perceptor in this moment with the clipped and precises statements he delivered at a whipcrack pace in the lab.

And he wanted to keep it that way.

No crewmember would believe that Drift- happy and calm Drift, who softly preached and sermonized and somehow was the zen center of the chain of command- was the same mech who crooned to Perceptor in this moment. No one would believe that the soft-spoken and chipper mech matched the one who’s gravel-rough words made Perceptor gasp and squirm and arch off the berth as valvecalipers cycled down on nothing.

And Drift preferred it that way.

This was not for others to know or see, this was for them alone.

As Perceptor sobbed Drift’s name when sword-calloused digits pressed into a slick valve to rub over buzzing sensors; as Drift smiled down like something Fallen and Holy and watched Perceptor’s optic flare white and roll up…

This was their little guilty pleasure- and no one’s business but their own.

* * *


	60. Self-Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HARUTEMU asked: OTP of choice and 4 for the nsfw drabble.

Rodimus arched, choking on his own voice.

“Ah-ah… Not yet.”

Rodimus shuddered, plating flaring and dumping heat in waves of rippling air. He felt the appreciative rumble of the tank engine at his back and pressed back against it as his legs trembled.

Once again, he felt too-knowledgable servos move over him- plucking at cabling and stroking the very lines Primus sketched him with and he whimpered, feeling his spike throb painfully and his valve clench on nothing. The mech behind him had been teasing him for hours, it felt like- relentlessly stoking his charge until it almost felt unbearable; raw electricity burning through his lines.

“Pl-lease.”, he whined softly; turning his helm to nuzzle at neckcabling before stretching to press a kiss to a smooth jawline, “Please I need-”

“Ah, ah- you must _learn,_ Rodimus. Self-control is as important as the use of charisma; and you seem to have only mastered _one_ of those.”

Rodimus moaned thickly, head lolling to the side as the tips of servos moved gently over a glowing node, dipping just barely into a saturated valve and making the trembling in his legs worse. He panted open mouthed when those digits trailed up the shaft of his spike and he tilted his hips in offering.

“Even your ventilations, Rodimus, and _control_ yourself.”

Rodimus shuddered hard again, gritting his dentae and desperately trying to force down the teasing feeling of overload, hovering just on the edge of his sensors. His own hands were curled into tight fists, and he pressed them against his thighs and shifted on the lap he was straddling.

“Good, very good.”, purred that University-colored voice behind him, “And exvent.”

A whoosh of too-hot air, and Rodimus felt his shivers seemingly from a distance.

He jolted when two servos slid into his valve, and the mech he pressed against wrapped an arm around his waist to curl digits around the throbbing spike.

“Do not flail; remember, _control.”_

Rodimus nodded slowly, his helm tilted back and his panting still present but muted.

The servos in his valve slowly moved, pumping in and out and curling to stroke along sensors that felt like pinpoints of burning starlight. Rodimus clenched his dentae harder together; and then his spike was stroked in counterpoint.

“M-May I-nn- M-may I-”

“ _Words_ , Rodimus.”, purred the mech behind him.

“May I o-overl-load, please.”

“You may. Vocally, if you need to.”

Rodimus’s abdominal plating tightened as his body shivered, and moans fell from him like raindrops in hell. He uncurled his fists to dig the tips of servos into his thigh plating, to stop the squirming urge that hummed through his limbs.

A thumb swiped over the head of his spike, and his sounds became louder to match the increasing pace of both hands pleasing him.

His optics flared white and went dim and his backstruts straightened just so as overload began to wash over him in waves. His hips twitched with restrained motions, trying desperately to obey the command he had been given.

“P-Perce-Perceptor don’t sto-o-op!”

“I won’t, love. You did so well, I’m so proud.”

Rodimus’s legs jerked as transfluid decorated Perceptor’s fist and Rodimus’s chestplate; as valve calipers cycled tightly down and he almost wailed through the drawn out sensations of release.

When overload finally freed him from its delirious tailspin, he slumped back against Perceptor, shivering and far-too-warm.

He felt a kiss pressed against his helm, and hummed happily.

Self-control was a learned trait, and his teacher was one of the best.


	61. Feline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VIISIVARVASLAISKIAINEN asked: If you're still taking prompts, then Winglock being adorable and cuddling in bed while Wing gives Deadlock dem finial rubs~

_You’re just a hideaway, you’re just a feeling_   
_You let my heart escape beyond the meaning  
_

It was a rare morning that Deadlock would let Wing sleep in.

These rare mornings were always well rewarded.

Deadlock draped over Wing with a content rumble of his engine, blankets askew around them and Deadlock nuzzled the flier’s chestplate before once again his helm thudded gently against it.

The purring rumble grew louder, and his finials relaxed in a content if aware position.

Wing, slitting one optic open, sluggishly raised his hand to drag a servo along the white metal closest to him.

And then Deadlock was bunting his helm against Wing’s hand; his optics were slitted and his engine rumbled louder than an earthquake. With a tired laugh, Wing scritched near the base of the finial before rubbing the tip gently with thumb and foreservo.

Deadlock rolled then, onto his back and still draped over Wing as he did so.

Wing shifted, sitting up with a blanket still tangling his legs as he smiled dozily down at his normally-brash lover.

Deadlock nudged Wing’s hand with his helm again, grumbling in his throat.


	62. Solvent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: Can I ask for some pointless Command Trine fluff? A wonderful seeker cuddle puddle? Any verse.

_God I wish I never **spoke**_   
_Now I gotta **wash** my mouth out with **soap**_

He spoke out of turn, with supposedly no thought behind it. He blurted things out with no care or tact.

He was vindictive and angry.

And he was still so _small._

And Starscream and Thundercracker watched him with a throb in their sparks and apologies behind their lipplates but no way to tell him. They knew, they knew how it hurt him to have seen his home destroyed before he truly had the chance to experience it.

And after one too many split plates and one too many cracked optics; they took action.

They pulled him close, placed him between them and pulled out the old datapads and holograms. They curled around him and showed him, showed him the world their war had stolen from him too soon to be fair.

And they let him weep.

They let his helm tilt back and his vents hiccup after he ran his servos through the wispy remains of life as he never got to know it and they cooed to him in Vosian.

They surrounded him in a life lost and they let him mourn what he had never been able to touch.

And when he settled; when digits clutched at Thundercracker’s hands and he shuffled in recharge whenever he felt the warmth of Starscream’s frame shift-

They made him a promise, there in the silence.

They would take back what was stolen from the smallest in the trine.

They would give Skywarp a real sky to fly in- one untainted by the smoke of war and the darkness of death.


	63. To the Victor Go the Spoils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: PercyRatch with 27 please?

_Oh, take a chance, let your body get a tolerance  
_

He’d always been a hard mech to pin down- but now it was literal.

Ratchet’s engine growled as once again Perceptor seemed to slip from his grasp with nothing but the twist of his hips and some kind of magic. The ex-Wrecker taunted him with a wink, continuing to traverse the hall to Ratchet’s hab suite with a sway to his step that wasn’t quite there before-

Or perhaps Ratchet was too enamored by that narrow waist to notice.

He followed eagerly, engine still rumbling as he pounced. Perceptor’s back thudded against the wall with a shocked sound bursting from the scientist’s vocalizer as Ratchet slipped his thigh between Perceptor’s with a smirk.

“Gotcha, sweetspark.”

“So you think, love.”, was Perceptor’s whispered response.

Slim servos gripped the edges of Ratchet’s chestplate, pulling him ever closer to Perceptor’s frame as the scientist gave that demurely coy smile. He nuzzled under Ratchet’s chin, whispering the lewdest promises and pleads in a voice so soft it could be silk in nature.

And somehow Ratchet went from proudly pinning Perceptor to the wall to swallowing his own groans and gasps; holding onto Perceptor’s hips now as those same dark rips rolled against Ratchet’s thigh.

“Now, if we’re done here, are you going to take me to berth and make me shriek your name or continue with the act of pontificating with your brawling capabilities?”

Ratchet wheezed a yes, moving quickly to all-but drag Perceptor down the hall- the muttering though in his processor reminding him that just because you can hold Perceptor down doesn’t mean you’ve one-upped him.

Just made yourself a more visible target.


	64. “Something about you makes me want to commit extreme violence.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RAVYNFYRE asked:“Something about you makes me want to commit extreme violence.” - with Perceptor/Drift?

Drift narrowed his eyes, watching a large mech sit far too close to his unobservant scientist.

It irritated him.

Blurr nudged him with a laugh, “Lookie there, pretty Percy’s went and caught another.”

“Hm?”

“Y’know- caught him. Lured him on over. Percy ain’t gonna pay for a single drink tonight. I’m almost kinda proud of him, y’know? It’s good to have a cute postermech for a unit like ours- reels ‘em in hard’n;fast and- uh, you okay?”

“Of course.”

“Uh… Drift, you sure? Does this make you feel some kinda way or…?”

“That’s a way to put it.”

“What, that big mech over there makin’ you nervous?”, laughed Blurr, a knowing glint to his optics. Drift was a fairly short mech, compared to many of the wreckers.

“Something about him makes me want to commit extreme acts of violence.”, was the growled sentence that came next.

The target of Drift’s gaze moved, hooking an arm around Perceptor’s waist though the scientist-turned-sniper was leaning away from him.

“Ah. That might be why. Pardon me, Blurr. I have something to take care of.”

The snarl embedded in those low words suddenly reminded Blurr of who Drift had once been. The racer gulped, watching Drift rise from his seat to saunter towards his target-

The racer-Wrecker found himself mumbling a prayer under his breath.


	65. Prepare to Be Amazed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RADIO-CYBERTRON asked: “Prepare to be amazed.”- Blitzwing/Megatron. <3

Random’s voice cackled out into the room.

“PREPARE TO BE AMAZED!”

Megatron glanced up from his brooding thoughts, amused and… frankly, a little worried. It was never good when Blitzwing’s more eccentric facet was in control. Megatron vented a soft sigh of relief when the faces flickered to switch to the colder persona.

“Milord, I haf.. somezhing interesting for jou.”

“Oh?”

“Ja. Zhe mission vas a success- supplies were seized, along mitt veaponry, their destination’s coordinates, and some.. other goodies.”

Megatron shivered subconsciously at the way the cold-voiced mech said that last word, and the smile creeping over Blitzwing’s face like morning frost certainly did not help.

“Oh?”

“Ja.”

A tarp, gathered at the corners, over Blitzwing’s shoulder. It clattered and clanged as he tossed it forth, and Megatron couldn’t help the chuckle that leaked from him.

Faceplates looked up at him, frozen in a last scream of terror, with the Autobrands jammed into them to keep the jaw pistons from releasing and closing the mouth.

“I figured jou vanted some party favors to load into zhe cannons on zhe field, yes?”

“Blitzwing, I do love how you think.”


	66. Clockmaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BIRB-TROLLKIN asked: OK, now I'm thinking. Things like the fact that cenobites were pretty big on the flesh hindering the true nature of the soul. Functionists were kind of the antithesis to that. What would have happened to the functionists if they solved the puzzle?!
> 
> Part of a Hellraiser crossover AU.

_“A wise being once told me that hell is impermanence. Your kind has done **nothing** but prove her words.”  
_

The council of the functionist leaders looked in awe and a form of disgust at the being in the center of the room. It was clothed in shimmering white- with a ribbon of read at the narrow point in it’s frame.

It did not walk. It floated.

It drifted from the glimmering space where the box once was.

“What manner of being are you?!”

“Once I was called Kirsty Cotton. The Mother of Lies, he named me at my birth- or rebirth.”, it continued.

The lights flickered.

“You are creatures, but not of flesh and blood. Not the same as my creatures- you are living Labyrinths of Leviathan, each of you… Yet you are as foolish as any human being.”

“How dare you!”, piped an Iaconian accent, “We are a superior ra-”

And then, the chains came.

Kirsty Cotton smiled, almost loving, as her Harrowers crept forth like the hellspawn she had made them into. Edgar nudged her shoulder and she reached to stroke his disastrous maw of a face.

The Cybertronians, as she knew they were called, screamed and howled as heavy iron chains dug their sentient hooks into cabling; as these ropes of metal and hellish magic wrapped around their limbs.

“You are fools, fools and facades all of you. Like him. Like Captain Spencer.”, she whispered,”You have SUMMONED us, for things you simply do not have the GALL to attempt! We are not MESSENGERS of mortal beings, we are PUNISHERS! EDUCATORS! WE ARE MASTERS AND CREATORS!”

Her voice was rising, rising like a tide of blood and gore and crashing into audials as they stared in horror.

“And as you have planned and schemed, I have listened. And as you have prodded and tested, I have watched.”, she continued, “I have learned as you have learned- my Engineer has remastered my chains and my devils to show you that your paltry obsession with pattern and infinity is meaningless in the end.”

She alighted, like a moth on a dead lightbulb- like dust on a forgotten headstone, upon the table where the council sat.

She smiled, she smiled like a lover and a friend and a mother and a redeeming angel. And she tilted her head, the light blinking off the pins lodged in crisscrossed lines like the map of purgatory.

“I am here to show you pleasure. I am here to show you pain. I am here to show you Hell.”, she whispered, “You, who would force subjugation for the sake of a comfortable rhythm. I am your new cacophony. I am what you wanted, deep within you, all along.”

Her hands reached out, stroking along a living steel jawline.

The chains creaked as Cybertronian frames tried to break them.

_“And oh…”_ , she whispered,  _“I have such **sights** to show you.”_

One by one, each being was rent asunder as they were dragged back into creeping shadows, down and down into a new Labyrinth- a new Void.

Kirsty Cotton’s eyes closed as the chorus of howls and screams rent the air- the smell of spilling energon almost as sweet as diabetic blood.

She looked to her Harrowers.

“Find me a new Toymaker. Find me one drenched in suffering. Find me one who can create new doors for us to explore.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Whirl sat in his habsuite, quiet and contemplative. He remembered when the whispers in his helm began, urging him to create.

He remembered the first clock he made. A silly thing, for a nigh eternal being to own- but what greater luxury for a mortal creature than the ability to hold time in the palm of a hand, like a god with the world at his servotips?

And so, he became the Clockmaker.

And they destroyed him for it.

And now, he sits in his habsuite on the Lost Light- working carefully with the strange tools the Whispers gave him. They understand him, his bloodlust, his anger- his pain.

Cyclonus looks at him.

“Why did you make these?”, he asks, when he nods at the clocks, and Whirl can see the ghost of unease on Cyclonus’s faceplates, “Why so many?”

Whirl looks at the clocks, sees the invisible chains wrapped around them and pulling at gears and cogs. He is trying, the Whispers need them. They need them to make the mechs who hurt him pay for what they’ve done.

_“Because I keep making **mistakes.** ”_

When the conversation ends, Whirl sits at his worktable, and She comes to him. With her flowing white, and her strange form of disfigurement.

He finds her beautiful.

She lays a hand on his claw, before leaning to nuzzle against it.

“My Clockmaker. _Soon._ Soon it will be _**perfect.**_ ”

“Yeah. Soon.”

The chains move to wrap around his claws, becoming servos for him to use.

And The Clockmaker begins again.


	67. Golden Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RODIMUS-HOTBODIMUS asked: a v self indulgent request if you have the time. driftrod, romantic or platonic. drift comforts rodimus after his recharge is interrupted by bad dreams? you're allowed to hurt me plenty as long as theres good comfort after, please and ty!

_Did you know_   
_it was all going to go_   
_so wrong for you?_

That burning smell.

It haunted him, every time his systems onlined, every time he ran too hot it haunted him.

Burning fuel, burning.

Screaming.

“You did what needed to be done.”

Rodimus unshuttered dim optics, and screamed.

He screamed for lost years and he screamed for lost lives. He wailed for absolution or death, he didn’t know anymore- anything to make the nightmares stop. The rumble, the explosion, the sudden darkness of a thousand lights going out, underscored with the scent of pure air and the rustle of blue flower petals.

He screamed to be saved.

And, just this once, he was.

Vocmod turned off for recharge, engine rumbling unevenly in panic, Drift was there. Drift was there, gently shaking him, guiding him back with a voice turned to gravel and sandstone erosion by eons of battlecries he no longer could believe in- Drift was here.

Rodimus’s motions were jerky and panicked as he latched on, ventilations wheezing and plating trembling as he babbled- he tripped and stumbled over apologies and prayers and hymns from a thousand lifetimes ago.

And Drift hushed him, soothed him; there perched on the edge of the berth like a visiting guardian angel. He all-but crushed Rodimus close, encasing him in a shield against the little terrors and looming shadows of the habsuite.

Rodimus choked on the coagulation of speech- the lump in his intake like he needed to cry or burn up into ash.

The smell of burning was slowly being overtaken; masked over with Drift’s polish and the traces of old incense burned in prayer.

Rodimus slowly slid out of his internal hellscape to hear Drift speaking on comms.

“The nightmares are back again- we can’t leave him like this- It looks like it, yeah, the scrips are on the berthside table, looks like its been taken regularly.”

Rodimus’s helm tilted to look at Drift; but his optics were only half-lit as they came back online.

“Yeah, good idea. It’s best to keep him somewhere he’ll feel safer. I still say his hab is too big for him you know. All that empty space can’t be good… Science has no say on dreams, Perce. We’re on our way.”

Rodimus swallowed hard, rasping out a “Dr..ift?”

“Yeah Roddy, its me. I heard you yelling halfway down the hall- nightmares again?”

A nod.

“I’m gonna take you with me, okay? To me and Percy’s suite.”

Another nod.

“C’mon.”

Drift pulled slowly away, wincing at Rodimus’s whine, before turning and tapping his own shoulder. With a clatter and huff, Rodimus clambered up onto Drift’s back and clung like a limpet in the tide.

Drift shifted him a bit, hooking arms around Rodimus’s knees and set out. Rodimus tapped the keypad with a pede to open the door, and they traversed the dim hall down to the farther reaches of the hab sector.

Perceptor was waiting for them, worry on his faceplates along with his tired expression. He waved them in, being sure to lock the door behind them as Drift carried Rodimus to the berth, humming the whole way. 

Rodimus was already dozing when he was allowed to slide off of Drift’s frame onto the berth- feeling two set of servos nudging him into position, hearing murmurs of “You want window or edge?” “I have first shift in the a.m. cycle, Percy, I’ll take edge.” “Excellent, its my offshift so I can stay with him a bit in the morning, when’s he due to report?”

Rodimus’s hearing faded out then, drifting somewhere candy-colored and sunrise-flavored until the berth shifted, and he jerked back to wakefulness.

The rumble of a tank mode engine at his back, nearly vibrating his lankier frame, made him settle within moments. He heard the whirr of gyros in Perceptor’s arms as they settled around a fire-colored waist, and Rodimus reached out for Drift with a stuttered subvocal whine.

“I know Roddy, gimme a klik.”, chuckled the swordsmech before yawning grandly.

Rodimus reached out until his servos could anchor on the edge’s of Drift’s chestplate as the one-time wandered settled against Rodimus’s front. 

Pressed between the pair, Rodimus cycled down into recharge with a whimper and a sigh through his vents, burying his face against Drift’s neckcabling and moving one hand to grip Perceptor’s.

At least someone, or a pair of someone’s, understood.

He let the scent of counter-sanitizer and incense lull him back into the realms of recharge as they chased away the demons clawing at his processor.

 


	68. Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> METEROFEST asked: “You’re being quiet, is something wrong?” with rodimus/magnus or “Don’t question my orders” with perceptor/rodimus?

“Do not question my orders, Rodimus.”, he says silkily by the young Captain’s audial, “Trust me.”

“I do. That’s why I’m nervous.”

Perceptor hums in answer, moving away. He runs his servos over the twined ropes crisscrossing over the captain’s frame, his optic brightening at the squirming that gets.

“This is an exercise in release.”, says the sniper softly, “I have noticed you are getting antsy again, Rodimus.”

A wriggle.

“You have become snappy, crass… like you are holding on with your servotips.”

Stillness.

“Do not censor your existence.”, murmured the scientist, servos skittering over red and orange plating, tracing the outline of a flame pattern without needing his optics to follow each painted line, “Especially not with me.”

“But.”, began the Captain, before he clamped his mouth shut and turned his helm.

Perceptor arched an eyebrow, slipping servos into seams and stroking the heavy cabling until Rodimus’s backstrut rose into a hesitant arch. He chuckled, laying on the berth next to his bound partner, crooning soft praises into the Captain’s audials until optics flickered and a tremor raced over bright plating.

The click of panels sliding slowly open, a soft groan as a gaudily painted spike pressurized to proudly stand in the low light of the berthroom.

Rodimus licked his lipplates, panting when he felt those war-roughened hands cease their teasing- one of them moving to stroke over a heavy spike as Rodimus bucked his hips with a heady moan.

His pedes slid over the berth, trying to gain traction as each stroke pulled him closer to overload- and the touches stopped.

Perceptor rested his hand over Rodimus’s abdomen, murmuring to him still. Calling him all the things no one else would, slathering him in praise like expensive polish or holy oils and Rodimus felt his veneer crack just a little as unspent desire hummed in his lines.

The hand on Rodimus’s abdomen moved up to the Captain’s chin, gently guiding him to turn his helm- and Perceptor kissed him, softly, tenderly.

Almost like he loved him.

Almost like Rodimus deserved to be loved.

Rodimus strained at his bonds, pressing hungrily into the kiss with a low whine and Perceptor pushed him carefully back to the berth. The kiss tore down the center like a ripped Valentine card; and with lipplates still brushing, Perceptor spoke in that University-prim accent.

“You do not need to beg for my affection.”

“But-”

“You do not need to earn my desire.”

“Perceptor-”

“You are wanted, just like this, just as you are.”

Rodimus felt his spark swelling, swelling like a star before it becomes a black hole- before it scars the fabric of space and time and life and death and he choked on his voice like the very sound had become visceral and viscous all at once.

And then that featherlight touch danced over his spike and he was gasping and pleading for something more than an overload.

“Ple-ease- please still-”

A firm stroke, and he teetered over the edge with a broken sob. His hips rolled and his abdominal plating flared and rippled as his body curled while his sensornet went supernova.

He dropped back shuddering and hiccuping through his vents and still hearing Perceptor’s voice-

You are wanted You are wanted You are wanted YouAreWantedWantedWanted-

“Mat-”, he choked, “Percep- M-Matrix, Matrix get me-get me out Please get me-out”

Snap.

The ropes fell loose, the whirr of microtransformation sounding as the scalpel hidden in Perceptor’s middle servo receded once more into his mechanicals.

Rodimus shuddered, trying to curl into himself even as the ropes were carefully pulled away, tossed to the floor like refuse and Perceptor was there, at his back.

The rumble of a tank-mode engine. The caging of Perceptor’s heavy-duty frame and warmth, blessed warmth crawling over his plating as he was held.

“Shhhh, Rodimus. Shhhhh, its alright; I’m here, you’re safe, its off of you.”

“I was-I’m-”

“Invent.”

The whoosh of air into Rodimus’s trembling ventslats.

“Hold, 2, 3… Exvent.”

The hiss of escaping steam.

“I… t hurts. They look at me and it hurts because I know what they see and its not what they want they don’t WANT me I… I don’t… I don’t understand, I’m trying-”

Perceptor gently tugged him, helped him turn over and let him bury his faceplates against neckcabling.

And they lay in the quiet, with a heap of red rope piled on the floor like the defeated Serpent of Eden, and Rodimus clung to the pillar of stone in his own tumultuous sea.

And as galaxies slipped into infinity and stars burned themselves out- Perceptor stoked the forge and let Rodimus burn and burn and burn.

And he folded the steel and cooled him with praise like cold water on a summer’s day.

“Shhhh, Roddy, sssh… It’s alright.”

“Say it again.”

“You are wanted, just as you are.”

“Don’t lie to me. Please don’t- don’t lie.”

“Not to you. Never to you. I swear on my spark, Captain.”

Rodimus shivered, hiccuping through his vents, “Can we just… Can we lay here? For tonight?”

“Of course, dearspark.”, murmured Perceptor, slipping his arms around Rodimus’s waist and holding him close as their legs tangled together, “For as long as you want, for as long as you need.”

Quietly, as a spoiler twitched and lay flat like a moth’s wings, Rodimus nuzzled closer.

“…Thank you, Percy.”


	69. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: I can't believe tumblr is personally targetting me for my kinks. okej so I'm going 2 try 1 more time. Request: driftceptor, orgasm delay/denial, D/s. Honestly Bex, just fuck me up. you already know how lmao.

_I’m in **love,** I’m in **love**_   
_I’m in love with your **strict machine**_ **  
**

Drift whined, tugging at his restraints- his wrists were bound, the bindings hitched downward and attached to the base of the berth. Just enough slack to move, but to escape. His legs, bent comfortably, were laced into position and he writhed like a trapped animal.

Perceptor smiled down at him, purring his praises and his promises in a voice like the hellish winds in the ninth circle, letting his servos trace microseams and tease over too-warm plating. 

_“You look so lovely like this, darling.”_

Drift swallowed hard.

He tilted his hips as Perceptor’s hands stroked over his panels, making Drift’s optics roll back as the sniper pressed against the flexible living steel, making Drift shudder hard and whine for more stimulation.

_“I’ll let you have the first one, darling- but just one. I’m feeling merciful… Besides…”_

Perceptor’s smile was a meeting of glaciers and hellfire.

_“It’ll help the **fun** last just a little longer, hm?”_

Drift’s panels snapped away without his prompting.

His engine revved hard- it had been torture enough, Perceptor’s menthol-cold kisses and warm frame creating a dizzying counterpoint as the sniper had bound Drift with the ease of long years of practice; the cunning of a predator with his prey in his grasp. And now he led Drift along with his voice, hissing lewd promises and humming hellfire and hail and making Drift’s back arch on his words alone.

And then that voice was paired with two servos slipping into a slick valve, the digits curving almost cruelly as they slowly slid in and out- pressing against sensitive metalmesh and lighting up Drift’s sensornet like an air strike.

His spike pressurized without him noticing, not until Perceptor laughed low in his throat like the Devil presented with the night’s sacrifice.

With a whine, overload washed over Drift like high tide- legs trembled and strained against their bindings and his voice crackled like an old radio in a warzone.

Perceptor’s soaked hand moved away fro Drift’s valve, glinting in the dim light before it wrapped around Drift’s spike and stroked slowly- pulling moans and whimpers from the sprawled and bound swordsmech until Drift’s hips thrust into Perceptor’s fist with the eagerness of the need for climax.

_“Ah, ah, ah.”_ , scolded Perceptor, pulling his hand away,  _“Not until you’ve **earned** it, lovermine.”_

Drift growled in his chest, squirming in his bonds and baring his fangs.

The berth shifted, and Drift looked to Perceptor as the sniper straddled white hips and smiled like UV light.

_“Remember, not until I say.”_

Drift watched, nearly salivating as his optics followed the path of Perceptor’s hand down, down over red plating- past the coolant hoses that led under a heavy chestplate, down between thighs that he remembered held heavy pistols once upon a time.

Drift’s plating rattled as he watched the scientist-turned-sniper press one, then two fingers into his own valve after the panels snapped away- Drift’s spike throbbed hard enough to nearly hurt as he heard his lover gasp quietly like a midnight prayer and then Perceptor was sinking down and Drift’s spike was pulsing in time with his sparkbeat as heat enveloped it.

Drift moaned thickly, dropping down flat against the berth as Perceptor slowly rolled his hips.

The swordsmech’s vents leaked steam as he trembled, pleading in a pleasure-roughed voice- nearly growling his words now, as Perceptor set a languid pace. Drft’s hips bucked up, and Perceptor gave off a silk-soft cry into the berthroom and dropped down hard. He pressed Drift’s hips into the berth, rocking to feel the spike press as deep as it could into him and a dark helm lolled back.

Drift fiercely overrode his overload protocols, intent on obeying his lover’s commands no matter how hard it became.

No matter how perfect Perceptor’s valve felt, no matter how the scientist looked as he shivered and gasped and whined Drift’s name.

No matter how Perceptor moaned as his own climax raced over his sensornet, making his voice shake and tremble behind that chestplate.

But oh, it was tempting.

And then Perceptor was lifting off his spike with a soft groan, and Drift grit his dentae as his spike throbbed in the cooler air and a thin line of transfluid leaked from the tip to trace a silvery path down the engorged shaft.

Perceptor smiled again, like the devil, like Asmodeus himself-

He moved back, nestling between Drift’s legs and holding Drift’s thighs open just a little more- just enough for his helm to lean down and a knowing glossa to lap at a glowing node before venturing lower.

Drift howled, backstruts arching in a perfect curve- an equation written in desire and accentuated with the staticked cries from Drift’s vocalizer. His legs jerked and twitched, his servos curled into fists and he thrashed as the rumble of a tank-mode’s engine sent vibrations sliding against his valve like sensation made tangible.

_“Perce- Percy **PLEASE-** ”_

Perceptor left off his teasing, sitting up on his knees and licking his lipplates- an action made lewd by Drift’s pleasure-rocked processor.

_“Oh darling, you’ve done well tonight.”_ , purred Perceptor, hands tracing along quivering thighs,  _“Perhaps its time for… a little reward, hm?”_

Drift whined.

Perceptor’s grin was unshaken, even when two fingers pressed into Drift’s clenching valve, even when his other hand curled around Drift’s leaking spike and each moved in counterpoint to the other.

And Drift writhed like a mech possessed. He wailed Perceptor’s designation even as static broke the name apart like a hammer against glass.

_“Drift.”_

The swordsmech convulsed, moaning heavily as he turned bleary optics to Perceptor.

_**“Overload.”** _

Drift screamed. Oh, he screamed and static wrapped around the sound like barbed wire as it all framed Perceptor’s designation. The swordsmech howled when Perceptor’s hands left him, only to return with a firm grip on Drfit’s hips.

_“That’s right, Darling.”_ , purred the scientist,  _“Scream for me.”_

And Drift obeyed helplessly when Perceptor pulled Drift’s hips into the thrust that buried the sniper’s spike deep.

Drift thrashed as overload overtook him once again, and Perceptor’s thrusts didn’t stop. The white mech’s legs drew up, opening him further and letting Perceptor reach even deeper into him and strike against interior nodes that made starbursts of color explode over Drift’s vision.

Drift stared down over the expanse of his frame, wailing open-mouthed as he watched only for a moment before his helm lolled back to thud against the berth.

His frame went strutless, overloads layering over themselves until a final scream of his lover’s designation shorted his vocalizer completely- not even static came through anymore.

And then Perceptor’s servos dug hard into Drift’s hips and Drift’ fangs caught on his own lipplates as he felt Perceptor’s overload. Steam dripped from his vents like ambrosia as he felt Perceptor’s spike pulse against the grip of valve-calipers and his optics rolled back as he dropped offline, processor and sensornet overtaxed.

Perceptor hunched over, ventilations uneven and shaky, before he leaned down to rest his forehelm against Drift’s chestplate.

After a moment, he straightened and slid free of Drift’s valve, smiling at his rebooting lover.

_“Oh Drift, dear… that was only round **one.** ”_

A faint moan was his only answer. 


	70. Double-Down Double Agent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: I wish you would write a fix where, during DOTL, drift confronts ratchet about how Perceptor isn't amongst the castouts, and was therefore part of the mutiny and they're both heartbroken.

_“Where is he?”  
_

_“….With them.”_

Drift shook his helm, finials dropping as he stared at Ratchet’s vicious expression.

“He stayed behind, wasn’t even called forth from what I’ve been told. It’s safe to say that Perceptor isn’t on our side, Drift. Not this time.”

“That’s ridiculous, he’d never-”

“Then tell me WHY he isn’t here, huh?!”

“Look, I know Percy- I probably know him better than most and he wouldn’t DO this!”

Ratchet looked at him, the look in his optics bitter and sour as old beer in the sun, “And here I thought you had gotten over this pointless optimism.”

Drift stared back, “He wouldn’t abandon us. Wreckers care for their own.”

An addage that had lasted a four million year war. Words so few still lived by; words that had slowly become a little more empty every time they were spoken aloud like a prayer to god that no longer had the will to listen.

But for some… they still rang true.

And deep in the labs, Perceptor worked. He nodded with his orders, he obeyed his rules. His steps were watched, his messages logged quietly day in and day out until.

“Percy! Buddy!”

He turned, to see Getaway and Blaster in the doorway.

“How may I help you?, he asked, his voice level and soft.

“I’m sure it’s nothin’ at all but uh.. y’see, we noticed a weird message going out on the outgoing comms!”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. From you.”, crooned Getaway, leaning against the counter, “…To Brainstorm.”

“Ah yes, a jumble of glyphs.”, sighed Perceptor irritatedly, “Apologies. It was out of habit.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, its shorthand- something we used in the labs. I must have been exhausted last nightcycle, and sent him a reminder to clean up his workspace- as you can see its… a disaster. No matter what I do, the mess just grows and grows and quite frankly its an absolute hazard! Just imagine walking in one day and something gone up in smoke, or I’ve lost important equipment, or Primus forbid something’s broken!”

Blaster rolled his optics.

“And that’s not even considering all the broken protocol and the safety violations, why I could-”

“Okay, okay, I get it.”, sighed Getaway, “So it’s shorthand, huh?”

“Yes, used specifically on Kimia. All my notes and report drafts are written in it. I can show you, it’s quite a fascinating little language, you see-”

“No, no, I believe you.”, sighed Getaway, sending a look to Blaster, who shrugged, “Just, mind where you send messages, Percy, alright? Can’t have accidental info leaks.”

“Of course, I’ll delete his contact information immediately… Captain Getaway.”

Perceptor watched as the mutineer nodded, pushing away from the lab counter and gesturing for Blaster to follow. 

Blaster gave Perceptor one last look, suspicious, from the doorway as Getaway continued down the hallway. Perceptor… smiled.

A shudder from the DJ-turned-mutineer, and he quickly left. Once the door hissed shut behind them, Perceptor began the dive into the locked portions of his console, the untraceables, the unfindables.

Far from the ship, Brainstorm listened to Drift and Ratchet before his comms pinged softly.

He barked a laugh, scrambling to his feet and running, running to the complex’s controls.

“GATHER ROUND, EVERYONE, GATHER ROUND!”, he crowed, “It’s time!”

Rodimus and Minimus turned, still shaken from the blast that had reduced the necroplanet to a crescent sliver drifting through space.

“Time for what?”

“The meteor shower.”, said Brainstorm, voice fluid like toxic waster oozing over new growth, “Courtesy of our resident science sniper.”

“Meteor shower?”

A click as Brainstorm plugged a datacable into the base of his helm, displaying the jumble of glyphs and digits Perceptor had sent him. His servos danced over the keypads, separating the message and translating it into its true meaning- coordinates.

“Keep an eye on the sky.”, laughed the weaponsmaker as helms tilted back too look through the skylight.

The first glimmers appeared- escape pods.

“How did…”, asked Drift.

Ratchet blinked, “…Weapons systems. He and Brainstorm were the ones to outfit the ship with a base weapons system in the even of attack, they must’ve-”

“Every grand plan has a contingency in effect.”, said Brainstorm, “If you can fight, you gotta make sure you can flee!”

On the Lost Light, sirens were flashing, klaxons blaring. Another explosion rattled the ship and Getaway was thrown from the captain’s chair and he swore until the air near tinged blue.

He slammed his hands on the console, pulling the staticky and shaky security feed online and watched as mech after mech clambered into small statis pods- outfitted for impact- and were launched down and down to the sliver of planet below the ships lumbering and slow flight.

Empty halls, empty rooms- until the engine room.

The last thing the camera caught in its glossy vision were the engines, rattling and crackling and a vindictive laugh as a voice spoke from a distance.

“Kimian shorthand. Bloody imbecile.”

The camera feed shut down.

Perceptor ran, his pedes clanking on the plated floor as he took turn after turn and his optic feed glitched slightly from the flashing lights.

As he clambered into the last pod, as Blaster offlined his optics and was launched down into cold space, he saw Getaway in the doorway.

“YOU BASTARD!”

“Now, now, Captain.”, hissed Perceptor as a shudder rollicked the ship, “You know the rule of leadership.”

AS the cover closed and Getaway tried desperately to get to his pedes, Perceptor laughed again.

“The Captain ALWAYS goes down with his ship!”

Launch.

Perceptor clenched his dentae and dug his servos in, counting down until the engine meltdown that would destroy the Lost Light= along with Getaway, the few who were loyal and stayed behind, and any trace of any survivors.

He would wipe them all off the map, let them start out untargeted and clear once again.

Wreckers care for their own.


	71. Double

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: Maybe can I request CD/RW? With Rewind-2 knowing hes a copy and not the original, not the one CD loves, while the CD he loved is dead, and feeling and knowing that he shouldn't be alive?

_Cause I **got** it || He’ll **never** be like you _

 

You know.

You know, deep down, that you are never going to line up perfectly. You are two puzzle pieces that don’t-quite-match; two flavors that don’t-quite-blend.

You look at the scattered memories around the habsuite and wonder, you wonder what kind of love faded to dust here before you came to upend the urn and spill the ashes.

And you see the needles in his hands and your spark clenches. You know his optics flit to see the camera on the side of your helm and his spark stutters.

There are many kinds of death. There is sudden and painless severance- like cauterization of the soul. There is the drifting demise of two souls breaking their orbit. 

And then, then there is this.

There is the infected splinters of not-quite-right; the constant ooze of words from mouths like war-wounds in the sun that are stuck somewhere between honesty and obligation.

He is not your Chromedome, you are not his Rewind.

He is not your spark, you are not the light in his optics.

But your fractured fairytale will limp on, clutching its torn belly until the end- because sometimes, at night and deep in recharge…

You feel his arms tighten around you and you press against his chestplate and you can almost pretend that everything is okay again.


	72. Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE-ULTIMATE-OWL asked: --slides over like the nerd I am as I raise my hand- if I can request... some Skids fluff. Whenever its with Nautica or Nightbeat being dragged into the friend married fluff it's up to you Bex -thank you in advance as well, now I slide away-

_Blue, everything is blue. The sky, his plating, the feeling of the breeze over her shoulders._

_So human a color, for beings so far from human._

 

Nautica smiles, laughing softly.

“Remember when you got me to sing? Perceptor was… Perceptor was so wary of you, you know. Like a cybercat tom stalking his alley until he decided you were Good People.”

She laughs again, leaning to the side and closing her eyes at the feeling.

Blue. Blue like breezes, blue like petals.

“And we sang together, there in the bar. And Rung even joined in- his voice is so reedy and soft. I like it. Do you?”

Silence.

She shutters her optics, smiling like an ascending saint and feels her spark hum behind her chestplates.

“I’m glad I met you Skids. I’m glad you are a piece of my world, you know that?”

The stone base she leans against is cold- and cold feels like the color Blue today.

“I’m glad you were put in my world. Thank you so much for your time here.”

The breeze was soft, and the flowers sway and bob and she swears she hears his voice, rumbling softly in the distance like healing rainstorm and dark blue clouds- singing, singing his tawdry bar-songs.

The flowers glow a little brighter, and she sings along with him.

* * *


	73. Safety Net

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RODIMUS-HOTBODIMUS asked: comfort shibari starjack please i still dont even know what "comfort shibari" entails but i'm excited to find out:

_Sometimes I’m **out** of **control**   
Baby, you **know** how **I** am_

 

He can’t stop shaking.

His vents don’t work and he’s pacing and hissing and his wings are askew and he needs- but he’s not sure what. His paranoia is nipping at his heels like the hounds of hell and he eyes everyone with a wary optic and speaks words made of sulfuric acid and hellfire.

He’s a wild current with no ground, he’s a whirlwind in a bottle and he feels like he’s going to crumble into dust.

Heavy footsteps thud in time with his sparkbeat and he turns to see a broad mech closing the door.

“You rang?”

“Jack-”

“What is it, Starscream?”

“I can’t-”, begins the Seeker, flicking his wings down in a jerky and unscripted movement, “I’m not- I’m-”

“One of Those Things, huh?”, asked Wheeljack, optics squinting just a bit in a wry smile behind his facemask.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to-”

“Please? I-”, Starscream vented an annoyed huff and he shook his helm as though to clear it before putting the heels of his hands to his temples and hissing viciously, “Everything is-”

“I know Star.”, said Wheeljack with a nod, “I know.”

“I’m lost again, I think.”, murmured Starscream, sitting heavily on his berth, “I can’t figure this out I don’t- Can’t?”

He looked at Wheeljack, that haunted and hunted look on his faceplates and Wheeljack merely nodded again, and walked to the closet. Starscream watched him, wings crooked and uncomfortable until Wheeljack reaced into the back of the never-shut closet and pulled forth lengths of dark-dyed comfort.

Starscream looked at it, and looked back up to Wheeljack.

“What do you want?”, ased Wheeljack calmly, warmly- his voice seeming to fill Starscream’s hearing as he held out a near-literal lifeline.

“I need to not think.”, said Starscream, “I need to not be, I need to not worry I need-”

“Alright.”, said Wheeljack, facemask clicking aside and showing scarred lipplates and a scuffed jawline, “Alright.”

Starscream sagged where he sat upon the berth as Wheeljack moved closer; nudging the Seeker to retreat to the center of the wide berth.

“Watch my hands.”, commanded Wheeljack, “Count every loop.”

Starscream nodded, his forearms crossed over his chestplate and his own hands against his shoulders.

His focus narrowed, and he let it- He watched Wheeljack unbind the ropelike cable and begin to weave intricate safetynets over his plating and counted each and every loop. At every knot, he restarted his count and slowly the tremble left his voice, his wings lost their tension and he slid into a fuzzy greyspace- soft and comforting and quiet.

He felt gentle, scarred kisses at his temples every so often, felt the cable-rope pull a little tighter like a full-body embrace.

He sighed through his vents when the final knot was tied. He let his frame curl, knees tucking up, as Wheeljack helped the stressed Seeker lay upon his side on the berth.

He twitched, half aware in his comforted state, when he felt something soft wrapping around each wing. An organic cloth- silk, he vaguely recalls- is gently folded around each of his broad wings and the cool and smooth texture feels like a thousand familiar hands petting him.

It’s the feeling of a guardian soothing flicking wings; of being younger and comforted and safe. When life wasn’t leadership or politics or backhanded compliments and caustic sarcasm with a smile.

When living meant seeing his sky and falling in love with every thermal that carried him along a fading sunset horizon.

The berth shifted after the silks were wrapped around his wings- he chirruped softly as he was moved again; as Wheeljack scooped him up into his arms and settled the bound and bundled Seeker into his lap.

“Let go, Starscream.”

The worry began to return- the paranoia whispering.

“You’re safe here, I’m here.”

A thousand worries and a thousand fears building back up into a wall.

Wheeljack’s engine rumbles and Starscream turns to bury his face against Wheeljack’s chestplate- to feel the thrum of a spark still whirling in its near-eternal rotation.

“I’m here; this place is safe, you are safe. It’s alright.”

Seekers do not often cry. It’s simply not something they do- but they do mourn, and they fear many things. The way this manifests is not crying, no. It is calling for help in a way that they instinctually know will summon care and comfort.

A long, broken, and wavering trinecall rings from Starscream’s vocalizer, and he shudders as he curls tighter. Another call, and another, and then a hoarse wail.

And the walls fall to pieces in chunks of marble like heaven itself breaking apart and falling from grace. A self-made apocalypse and Starscream shudders again as his vents hitch. His servos clack and click their claws against his plating until they hook around stray looks of cablerope and hold fast- hold tight, almost as tightly as Wheeljack holds him against a white chestplate.

“I’m here.”, cuts through everything in Starscream’s mind and banishes the shadows overtaking his comforting grey, “I’m here.”

He wriggles and squirms, trying to press closer against Wheeljack until they could maybe become a single being-

He shudders once more and goes limp; Goes pliant in Wheeljack’s arms as the scientist rocks back and forth while holding him like something precious and fragile and soft and **_wanted._**

And Starscream offlines his optics and sinks into a comforting haze of white and green and red and grey and lets his processor go silent and blank.

“I’m here.”, echoes in the nothing-place, and Starscream invents the familiar scent of old polish and singed wiring; of lab counter cleaner and the solvent Wheeljack scrubs his hands off with.

The lights glinting outside flicker into the windows and bathe them in blue-green-white-fuschia and Starscream curls against Wheeljack.

He drifts in his monochromatic sea, watching waves tipped in lines of red and green and thinks of nothing at all.

Wheeljack grins down at his precocious bundle of Seeker, and kisses the top of Starscream’s helm as he leans back against the pillows of the berth. Eventually, Starscream will mumble himself back to lucidity, and quietly ask for the loops around his frame to be loosened and removed.

And then life will continue again- until once more Starscream needs his safety net of soft words and lovingly tied knots.


	74. People Are Strange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EX-WRECKER asked: (slams an order of Percy and Whirl on your table) Gimme the good ex wreckers healing from their trauma together and happy, maybe a lil sad cause Past Trauma but still! Healing together!! happy!!

_People are strange- when you’re a stranger;  
Faces look ugly when you’re alone…_

“Oi, Perce- you alright, mech?”

Perceptor jolted out of his reverie, suddenly realizing how tightly he gripped the railing. How fresh the scent of battle and death still was.

How loud his helm was without a word coming from his mouth.

“Hey.”

He looked to the side, seeing Whirl clatter forth in a tangle of limbs and one-liners.

“You okay, Perce?”

“Ah, uhm. Y-yes, yes I’m alright. No lasting damages, nothing my autorepair can’t handle-”

“Percy, ya know that ain’t what I mean.”

“I… don’t understand the question.”

“You feelin’ okay. That’s what I’m askin’ here mech- are you feelin’ alright?”

“Ah. Of course I am.”, Perceptor’s voice dropped into its deadpan register as he looked away, “Why wouldn’t I be.”

“Cause y’just faced the closest that creation ever came to remakin’ Mortilus himself. For the SECOND time.”, said Whirl quietly, “And that c’n do things to a processor my mech. Badness like that, I mean…. It sticks with ya. Like a stain.”

Perceptor’s grip tightened again.

Clunk.

Perceptor would never admit he squawked when Whirl gently tapped the scientist’s helm with his claw.

“C’mon, let’s get a drink, yeah? You look like you could use it. Or at least someone ta drink with ya, yeah?”

“I… I suppose that would be nice… for a change.”

Whirl cackled, thin and reedy and somewhere between a keen and a howl.

“Yeah, change can be nice ev’ry once in a while, ya know? ‘Sides, mech- you know what they say.”

Whirl’s arm was a surprisingly comforting weight over Perceptor’s shoulders as he tapped the scientist on top of his helm again playfully.

“We Wreckers take care of our own.”

Perceptor’s smile dropped into a grin, and he elbowed Whirl’s narrow waist.

“Oi pal, watch the hardware- shit’s _designer.”_

Perceptor snorted, and Whirl watch him snicker and chuckle with a squint to his optics almost like he was smiling.


	75. Hopeless Romantic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VIISIVARVASLAISKIAINEN asked: I'm feeling a bit down. Can I have some fluffy Winglock, please? ; u;

_“I never would have pegged **you** as the hopeless romantic.”_

Deadlock snorted through his vents, letting his claws trace over Wing’s backstrut as the flier lounged over a pleasantly warm speedster frame. The Ex-Con hummed softly, an old love song heard on an old radio in a time not-quite-forgotten but not-easily-remembered.

Wing nuzzled against Deadlock’s throat, feeling the rumble of a purr vibrate the vocoder; they had spent the better part of the morning tangled together in the berth, simply enjoying the warmth of each other- the soft sounds of waking up, the murmured I Love Yous that passed back and forth.

The pseudosunlight slanted into the window through old blinds and illuminated the dust motes that swirled through the air.

The weight of the moment suddenly bore down on Wing- here he lay, curled haphazardly with a Decepticon with a looming appointment with Dai Atlas waiting just around the next tick of a clock’s second hand.

“Hey.”

Wing looked up.

“Don’t worry your pretty l’il helm now.”, chuckled Deadlock, his optics dim and finials relaxed, “Just relax, live in the moment for a bit, lovermine.”

Wing opened his mouth to speak- but that lazy grin on Deadlock’s faceplates seemed to banish the flier’s voice; that half-cocked not-quite-a-smirk, on faceplates too young to be so lined like they were.

“Yes, live in the moment.”

Wing let his helm rest on Deadlock’s shoulder, feeling the Con move to wrap his arms around his lover. Wing vented, the sharp scent of polish and gunpowder singing his senses like cinnamon and sugar.

He let himself press closer to Deadlock, bury himself in the war-battered sentinel of memories long since dimmed by battledust- and Wing drifted like the swirls of dust through the low light.

* * *


	76. Reminisce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: *pirouettes into your life* slap me with some of that good ol Ratchet angst?

_And four years, no **calls**_   
_Now you’re looking **pretty** in a hotel bar_   
_And I can’t **stop**_

You wonder, quietly, if this is how Pharma felt all those years ago.

You immediately scold yourself for identifying with that madmech.

You remember him so much smaller. Wiry and young and bright opticked. You remember him tracing equations on your windshield with a dozy smile and legs still trembling as he murmured to you about the stars and galaxies that whirled around the point where you two met.

You lose yourself, staring at the half empty glass in front of you and let yourself float through memories.

When he was shy and quiet and easily excited. When you could pull him into a kiss just to give him that drunken smile and those optics like moonrises.

Your hand moves on autopilot, grabbing the glass and bringing it to your lipplates.

The liqour burns down your intake, and you grimace after swallowing and setting the glass back down.

You hear it, a laugh.

_“Drift, love, **honestly…** ”_

You see his reflection in the tanks behind the bar. He’s laughing like he never changed from the soft-hearted little scientist you knew back then. You watch him, feeling like the filthiest of voyeurs as you do so; you watch him and remember when you held him that tight. 

You remember when you made him laugh like that. You remember getting a little too overcharged, kissing him a little too lovingly, basking too long in the breathy little way he would gasp your name.

_‘I fall in **berth** with mechs on occasion, Perce; not so much in **love.’**_ you had told him.

You pretended not to notice the way his face fell, just a little, just enough.

You wonder if your hands still fit around his waist like they used to- you wonder if his frame is still supple and slim under all the armor.

You wish you had the right to know.

You watch his reflection, you watch Drift kiss him like he needed him to breathe and you pretend your spark isn’t freezing over in painful centimeters of permafrost.

And you watch them, somewhere between bitter and content- somewhere in the miasma of ignored feelings you float aimlessly and you watch Drift give him what you could have. What you should have. What you were too afraid to.

And you watch them leave, and you see Perceptor look over his shoulder for just a second.

And under the stoic expression, behind that reticule piece and too many years of little sleep and even less love- you see it.

That soft, sad-eyed scientist you left behind all those years ago.

You look away to ignore that pulling in your spark and pretend you don’t notice when the mask slides back in place and he leaves with Drift pulling his hand gently.

Maybe… Maybe if you had let yourself fall in love- _real_ love, not the foolish whirlwind you and Pharma called love for lack of a better term- maybe if you had let yourself love him, he wouldn’t have been singled out by Prowl. He wouldn’t have thrown himself so deeply into his work. 

He wouldn’t have walked away, pedes clacking on the floor, to become someone New.

Someone stronger than you think you could _ever_ be.

Your glass is refilled, and you look up to see Swerve with that infuriatingly understanding grin on his face.

_“On the house, Ratch. You look like you need it.”_

You nod; not trusting your voice.

You nod, and drink to forget the way Perceptor whispered to you on a morning so long ago you wonder if its really a memory.

_“I think I’m in **love** with you, Ratchet. Really in love with **you.** ”_


	77. Cracked Glasses and Empty Tables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HPD-BRAINSTORM asked:

_You could **shatter** every glass. You could **upend** the tables and you could scream til your vocalizer **cracked.**_

_They probably **wouldn’t** notice._

_You wonder if this is how **furniture** feels._

Swerve stood at the bar, watching mechs laugh and chatter; watched them nudge and lean and shove around playfully. His servos moved quickly, turning and twisting the glass in his hand that he polished. He noticed a hairline crack winding around the base of it, and frowned.

It would break soon- no doubt while in someone’s overcharged, drunken grip.

He set it aside, and moved to the next one- and he pondered throwing the cracked one. Just hauling off and lobbing it as hard as he could at someone’s helm. He glanced over the crowd, wondering who he could aim at.

He could aim at Ten, but discarded the idea. He hated how he snipped and snapped at the doormech- but he felt like he couldn’t help it. Ten never retaliated, never mocked him back, never said anything but his name… But sometimes even just the rumble of “Ten?” seemed almost sympathetic. Or pitying.

He could fling the glass at Rodimus, watch the Captain’s laughable facade of confidence crack like the glass would. Watch him snarl and snap “WHO THE HELL?!” out into the bar as he rubbed the side of his helm… At least then maybe he’d notice Swerve for something other than refills or to put off his tab. AGAIN.

He could aim, perhaps, at Drift. Drift, who used to be a part of when the world fell apart. He huffed. What he’d give to have what Drift did now. Even negative attention is better than blending into the background…

He could aim at Perceptor, or maybe Brainstorm. Get the pair of them bickering for a chance to make some snarky comment… that would probably be ignored. Like everything he seemed to do.

Mechs passed by, muttering for refills or babbling an order almost too fast for him to take. None of them even looked him in the optic when he handed over the glowing glasses of intoxication; none of them even said Thank You.

Swerve sighed through his vents, plastering his crooked grin back onto his face for a little while longer.

There would be time to list his regrets and his wishes later; time enough to whisper them into the only glass he’d have tonight before shuffling off to berth.

But for now, he would be furniture again- just a smiling drink dispenser.

But, just once… It would be nice to hear another voice.

It would be nice to hear “Thanks.”


	78. Amusement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> KURIFURINKAN asked: may i. ask for prowltimus. at least a little peaceful blease don't hurt me bex

_It was considered uncouth for a Prime to guffaw._

_In public, at least._

But how could anyone expect the Prime to keep a straight face in this situation? Prowl and his mothlike tendencies struck again- this time because of the flashes on the idlescreen of the console. Blue and green and purple and fuschia, flickers of old photos and clips from long gone vids.

Prowl sat enraptured, helm tilted just slightly- and with every flick and change of color, his doorwings fluttered. He perched on the edge of Optimus’s desk, engine idling as he watched the repeating series of colors and images flicker and switch in increments of a few seconds or so.

Optimus shook his helm, battlemask clicking away from his face silently as he crept closer and closer.

He loomed over Prowl’s back, leaning on his hands on the desk and carefully lowering his chin to rest on top of Prowl’s helm with a soft bump.

A sharp chitter burst from Prowl in shock, wings bouncing on their joints as he seemed to shrink down slightly in shock.

And Optimus couldn’t stop the uproarious laughter that rumbled out of him when Prowl leaned forward, glaring over his shoulder at the laughing Prime. 

Optimus bent further down, battlemask clicking back into place as he gave his best cyberpup optics to Prowl until the tac head sighed- hiding his own smile just barely, the Praxian moved his helm forward just enough to bump his forehead against Optimus’s.

“You startled me; how rude.”

“You broke into my office to watch the idlescreen.”

“….Touche.”

* * *


	79. Chapter 79

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE-ULTIMATE-OWL asked: “We’ve been through everything else together. This is no different.” Drift/Percy, I dare ya

_::We’ve been through everything else together.::, snapped Perceptor over his comms, ::This is no different, do you hear me?!::_

A tap to his comms, and the line switched. Drift’s call for help still ringing in his audials, he let his anger fill his chest like toxic waste and let it steady his hands far more reliably than any mechanical system could.

_::This is Getaway, what the hell do you want?!::_

_::Look up, glitch.::_

Down on the battlefield, Getaway froze for a moment as Perceptor’s snarl rumbled through his comms. Drift, disarmed, and with a blaster barrel at his temple as a means of forcing surrender, looked up at Getaway’s frozen form.

“Didn’t you say you were a wrecker?”, asked Drift quietly as the mutineers muttered amongst themselves in confusion.

“I, uh… I worked with them. Sort of.”, said Getaway in a hiss, optics darting to and fro over the line of the horizon.

The mechs who had been sent to their deaths looked around in confusion, Rodimus groaning where he lay against Megatron- who’s sharpened dentae were bared threateningly though one optic was gone and one arm hung useless and torn at his side.

“Then you should know their cardinal rule.”, said Drift, “Wreckers care for their own. And any time one of them calls for backup… It shows up. Usually with a hail of bullets.”

By the time the sound of rifle fire registered, the bullet had already slammed between Getaway’s optics, making a static yelp burst from his intake before he dropped to the ground in a heap of angle and imminent rigor mortis.

Drift smiled as he answered his comms.

_::Tell everyone to get down. I feel the urge to **shoot something.** ::_

“That’s my Percy.”, laughed Drift before looking over his shoulder at the briefest glint of an old rifle flashing in the sun.


	80. Dance With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> METEORFEST asked: “The lights don’t shine as bright when you’re not here.” First Aid/Ambulon maybe?

_Wise men say…  
Only fools rush in._

First Aid realized he could no longer cry.

The tears… wouldn’t come. Nothing would. Nothing but the memory of a beat up player in Delphi’s medibay, playing those old love songs. Nothing but the remembered feel of scuffed hands and chipped servos taking First Aid’s own after midnight please.

“C’mon, Ambi. No one’s here.”

“Dance with me?”

Remembering what it was like, to have Ambulon’s arms around him as they swayed. Feeling the vibration of the ex-Con medic’s hum reverbate through his chestplate.

Firt Aid could no longer cry.

But he could mourn. His spark could ache like a dying sun and his hands could reach for the phantoms he saw in that between-place he hovered in as he came out of recharge.

First Aid could no longer cry.

But he could dream. And he could remember.

Somehow… Somehow that was worse than anything.

* * *


	81. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HUBSCHRAUBERS asked: “There’s no one else I’d rather have with me than you.” Blitzmegs, please?

_You’re the **pretender  
** What if I say that I’ll **never** surrender? _

“You don’t mean that.”, said Megatron coldly as Blitzwing stood before him.

“It is one of zhe only zhings we three agree on.”, said Blitzwing, “Ve vant no one but you… my lord.”

Megatron rose from his broken throne; his kingdom under the mountain, shrouded in darkness and secrets and decay- his optics were heated and focused as he stared down at the resolute soldier before him.

“Do not… _lie_ to me.”

“I do not lie.”, said Blitzwing. He did not waver, he did not flinch. He did not back down. He stood ramrod straight, his optics locked onto Megatron’s even as the Decepticon leader raised the arm with the cannon anchored to it.

_**“Cease.”** _

“Nein.”

The cannon rumbled, humming angrily as a glow began within the barrel.

Sssshkt-click.

Megatron froze.

Blitzwing sootd, the lines in his face eerily illuminated from below as his spark whirled and glowed like the atoms of a nuclear experiment.

“If jou are to fire, aim true my lord.”, said Blitzwing softly, only now allowing his optics to close, “I stand by vhat I said before. Zhere is no one I vould razher have mitt me… z’hen you.”

His voice was quiet, softened at the edges; vulnerable. Megatron took a step back, a confused noise ringing from his throat at so blatant a display- He dropped back into his broken throne to stare in awe at the soldier who stood barely to his shoulders-

Blitzwing closed his chestplate silently before walking forward with his pedes clicking against the granite floor.

“May I?”

“You… You may.”

Megatron’s optics dimmed just enough to be almost shy as Blitzwing moved closer; close enough to lean forward and place the ghost of an arctic kiss against Megatron’s cheek.

“Danke, Megatron.”


	82. The Fall of Icarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> METEROFEST asked: okay bex, destroy me with my rare pair - “I’ll still be here when you get back.” with skids and damus.

_I was **lost** in the pages_   
_Of a book full of **death**_   
_Reading how we’ll **die** alone_   
_And if we’re **good,** we’ll lay to rest_   
_Anywhere we want to **go.**_

Remember, after he taught us how to live and hide- you said you’d be there?

Remember, remember how you promised me you would come back?

_You didn’t._  

And I awoke alone, with _Them._ I awoke in pain, and held myself the way you always did. And they walked through me, into me, down cobweb hallways and through fading circuitry and you. Weren’t. There.

Where did you go?

_Why?_

And they rebuilt me, and they handed me a new scripture to live by. One that would not let me pass into history as a nameless victim- no. I would make history, remake it even.

Rebuild it in the image I saw fit and I would be like a god.

I would be something holy. _Revered._

Like _you_ treated me once.

Remember? Do you remember, when you smile at me and told me, _“I’ll still be here when you get back?”_

The world is going cold, now. You still are not here. I held those words close. I tried to make you honor them; back when we met in the maw of hell and the gnashing of dentae and screams of the dying were all around us I tried to make you see me.

Where did you go, Skids?

I can feel my spark sputtering out- a collapsing black hole dressed in a borrowed husk and all I can think… All I can think about is that you are not here.

The flowers are blue.

That will have to be good enough.

As Shockwave said once before- remember me.

I do not think I will be coming back, Skids.

So remember me as I was.

Remember me as Glitch.

Remember Damus.

Because I do not, anymore.


	83. Soliloquy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> METEORFEST asked: “All you have to do is show me that you feel the same.” Drift/Perceptor

_So I **practice** all the things that I **could** say_   
_Line by **line**_   
_**Every** word_

They seemed to pass by each other like crooked orbits in broken galaxies; brushing fields and resisting the urge to reach out and catch hold. To pull close.

Perceptor would hold his datapads a little tighter; Drift would stand a little straighter.

And they’d glance over their shoulders and wish they could say the words they rehearsed in their minds like scripts.

They came close to kisses, ducking away when they were so close and yet still light years apart. Drift stood close enough to feel the warmth from Perceptor’s frame- Perceptor let himself be clumsy just to hear the honeymead laugh echo from behind Drift’s chestplate.

And finally the tension became too much.

And Drift stood in the doorway of Perceptor’s hab suite- willing himself to leave but unable to.

And he turned, a thousand lines ready to be spoken, a thousand apologies ready to deliver- and it all crumbled to dust when worn-weary optics looked back at him.

“..Perce…”

And all the sniper did was open his arms, plead with no words, beg him come back.

And Drift’s pedes led him away from the door, letting it close with a soft thunk and lock with a whirr.

 And he leaned down to where Percy sat, curled like the subject of a renaissance painting; he rested his forehelm against Perceptors, optics dim.

“Let me kiss you. Please.”

“Of course.”

And lipplates touched, pressed together with rising eagerness as a thousand words bloomed and wilted in a single gesture. They broke apart after seconds, long enough to whisper long-needed I Love You’s and Don’t Leave before coming back together. 

They kissed like a fairytale, they kissed like disaster. And with motions long since committed to memory they ended up curled together on the couch- a tangle of emotions and memories and words-deemed-unneeded.


	84. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ELIASDRID asked: ok bex here I go, if you are open for requests... I request either some soft shippy Mesothulas/Prowl pre-SOTW or some sort of actual-good-we-fixed-things-non-canon-ending Tarantulas/Prowl?

_Please don’t_ **go  
** I want you to **stay  
** I’m **begging** you please   
_Please don’t leave_ **here**

_Don’t leave._

The words echoed unsaid as Mesothulas watched Prowl’s faceplates settle into a stoic mask, as a new rank was lowered onto him like a crown of thorns before the crucifixion that was no doubt looming.

_Don’t go._

The words whispered with every step Prowl took, back and forth, as he rambled excitedly with doorwings aflutter like the flaring cloaks of those led astray by old fae and ancient otherbeings- with promises painted gold to hide the rotten cores.

_Don’t leave, please._

Mesothulas stroked along Prowl’s jawline, watching the enforcer in recharge as he sprawled like a Renaissance painting; tangled in silvermesh sheets and softly humming as he rested. Mesothulas rested his own helm against Prowl’s shoulder and he whispered an unnamed prayer to gods and fates unknown.

_“Don’t leave.”_

Prowl made a soft sound of wakefulness, optics dimly onlining and his helm turning to look at Mesothulas’s curled frame next to him. The Praxian huffed a sleepy laugh, carefully turning onto his side while being mindful of his doorwings.

_“I won’t leave you, don’t worry.”  
_

_“But…”_

_“Trust me, Mesothulas.”,_ said Prowl, nudging until he could bump his chevron against Mesothulas’s forehelm,  _“I’ll always be by your side, and you by mine. You know that.”_

Mesothulas nodded, pulling Prowl closer to curl around him; wrapping around him like a spider in the center of a weakened web, and letting a sigh leak from his vents.

_“Do you promise, Prowl?”  
_

_“I swear on my life.”, s_ aid Prowl with a sleepy smile as recharge crept back in at the corners of his optics, _“How could I **ever** leave you?”_

* * *


	85. Martyrdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RODIMUS-HOTBODIMUS asked: because the last one you did was so lovely, comfort shibari request round 2: driftrod. nonsexual, just tying up roddy w some good praise and maybe cuddles and kisses (as bros of course);;

_**Drink** my tears_   
_(I’m at your **mercy** )_   
_I **love** you most_   
_(But I’m not **worthy** )_

Rodimus swallowed imaginary ice and felt a self-contained sun burn him up form the inside out. An Icarus implosion, self destruction wrapped in living steel and uncertainty.

He felt Drift’s hand on his shoulder, a firm presence- granite and marble and ancient scars like old mountains and dead volcanoes.

He needed to speak, he needed to open his mouth and cry for help but the words wouldn’t come. His vocalizer refused to give him sentences; he closed his optics and swallowed again and did the only thing he could do.

He turned just enough, just enough for Drift to narrow his optics and tilt his helm.

“M-Matrix.”, whispered the young Captain.

Drift stood straighter. The TIC nodded slowly, leaning to speak by Rodimus’s audial.

_“To the habsuite, Rodimus. I’ll be there in five minutes.”_

His limbs weak and jellified like shed blood at high noon; the captain nodded, turning away and letting his processor fade into white noise and radio fuzz as the halls blended together like wet oil paint. The door was his only focus and it seemed to open too slowly before his slipped through like a returning wraith to his tomb.

He staggered to the berth, dropping onto it in silence and static anxiety and curling in on himself with a wheeze through his vents. Minutes passed like millenia and he cursed the shake in his hands before his optics shuttered firmly.

The door opened, and shut with a hiss.

Rodimus’s optics onlined to see Drift hanging the swords on their wallmounts, watched him lower his helm in a moment of prayer before he turned to Rodimus laying on the berth like scattered and spent matches.

The ex-Con didn’t speak as he moved about the room, fishing something from his subspace-

A blade, not unlike one used by SpecOps for stealth kills. The blade was dull, but sharp enough for the purpose required of it.

Rodimus’s spoiler fluttered weakly when Drift pulled the wound lengths of rope from the last drawer of the rarely-used desk.

Wordlessly, Drift approached the berth, unwinding the reinforced cablerope as he did so.

_“Sit up, Rodimus.”,_ he said, his voice low, the modulator on his vocalizer shut down for this.

Rodimus pushed himself up to kneel on the berth, helm hanging down. His vents hitched when he felt Drift’s field- the rumble of oncoming stormcells and the ebb of old tides under forgotten moons and Rodimus put his hands in front of him. His wrists together and palms against each other- he let Drift maneuver them so they were up against his chestplate like a prayer to a god long since forgotten… or perhaps replaced.

Rodimus whined, leaning forward to nudge against Drift’s frame, and the swordsmech paused in his binding of the young Prime.

He stood still, close to the berth, letting Rodimus lean into him like he could hide in Drift’s shadow- just for a moment, just for the rest of the day, the year.

Drift’s hand raised, tracing claws along a trembling spoiler in an affectionate gesture.

And like a sling for a cracking soul, Drift continued. The rope was a heavy black, dark and obtuse against the gaudy colors decorating Rodimus’s frame as each knot pulled the open cocoon of cablerope in firm and tight lines.

Rodimus’s optics dimmed and he felt himself slip away, losing himself in the notes of Drift’s idling engine and the brush and click of dulled claws.

_“There.”_

Rodimus shivered, feeling the rope against his plating and letting himself settle into it’s hold. The berth shifted as Drift sat beside the young Prime- crossing armored legs and patting one thigh.

_“Here, Rodimus.”_

And Rodimus leaned like he was falling, falling down into a comforting grey fog. Like the mist rising over old middens and like the wandering shrouds of uncertainty worn by lost reapers Rodimus sank down to rest his helm on Drift’s thigh. He felt clawed hands petting his helm flares, his neck, along the curve of his waist.

And he hiccuped.

_“And release.”,_ was the gentle command.

Rodimus felt his systems nearly seize. The sudden realization- he was bound and weakened, wounded and silent and laying with his helm in the lap of a one-time criminal-

_“Release, Rodimus.”,_ was the firmer demand.

Rodimus imagined Magnus finding out, imagined it getting amongst the crew, a worm of a rumor slinking and writhing along airwaves and the floor like dripping energon and his engined choked itself-

_“There’s no judgement here, Rodimus.”,_ murmured Drift,  _“There’s no judgement, there’s no expectation. Just a single command, like always, alright?”_

_“I-I…I….”_

_“Release, Rodimus.”,_ was the croon.

Rodimus shattered like a comet colliding with a dead planet’s surface. His breaking was silent and glorious and glimmering- a star dying in empty space or a galaxy forming from particles of both nothing and everything. He gasped, unable to make a sound as he squirmed before the gentle stroking along his side continued.

And he began to curl, to try and keep everything shielded and internalized any way he could- and then he was moving.

His optics onlined to see Drift’s chestplate. He glanced down to realize Drift had pulled him fully into his lap, letting him curl against a chestplate that betrayed its scuffed and roughened texture with soft colors.

And then his vision watered, and his voice gave up.

He let himself shudder and shake and press closer to Drift, drinking down the rumbled vocalizations that he felt more than heard.

_It’s alright Roddy, It’s **alright.**_

_I’m here, I’m **here,** I promise._

_You’re doing well, you’re doing so **well.**_

_I’m so **proud** of you._

_Proud of **you.**_

Rodimus stretched to bury his face in the scent of incense and polish and battle and breathed deep- the only alter, the only prayer he needed was white armor and that low voice; the voice that wouldn’t, couldn’t lie to him.

_I’m so proud of you, your **strength.**_

_I **love** you._

Rodimus let his optics offline as Drift rocked him, back and forth, back and forth like a metronome for an out-of-control sparkbeat; for a manic whirl of a stuttering star made of glass and old rubble. A collapsing city, a looped disaster reel on the news that was rebuilt only to self destruct once again.

But Drift’s arms tightened around Rodimus and his pitch-colored ropes and Rodimus felt his pieces realign; felt his foundations steady against the earthquake of uncertainty and he let himself go limp.

If the punishment for his crimes was a prison of cablerope and arms, he would gladly give up the sun and space.

If his sentence was soft words and the smell of incense on rough plating- then so be it.

He would pay his penance if only for Drift’s gift of softly whispered absolution.

_No **judgement** here._

_I’m so **proud** of you._

_**I love you.** _


	86. Dharma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> KROK asked: HEY BEX OKAY I KNOW I REQUESTED SMTH ALREADY BUT I LOVINGLY AND FORMALLY INVITE YOU TO KILL MY ASS WITH "it doesnt matter if you need me, you broke everything" w the trine.............

_“You broke more than laws and rites. You broke sparks.”_

Thundercracker stood firm as Skywarp drew to his full (if small) height.

“And not just any sparks. You broke ours. Your trine’s.”

Starscream glared down, plating tight and lipplates thin as they pressed together.

“The both of you left.”

“You chased us away.”

“You should have stayed by my side.”, hissed Starscream, rising from his seat, “The both of you ran, like cowards; when the going got rough the pair of you bowed out and bolted!”

“What choice did we have?!”, snapped Skywarp back, “You would have sacrificed us for your own gain and you KNOW IT!”

“How DARE you make such accusations-”

“HOW MANY SHOTS DID WE HAVE TO TAKE BEFORE YOU WERE HAPPY?!”, yowled Skywarp, “HOW MANY TIMES DID WE HAVE TO LIE IN THE MEDIBAY AND PRAY WE WOKE BACK UP?! HOW MANY TIMES DID WE HAVE TO WATCH YOUR BACK AS YOU WALKED AWAY BEFORE YOU WOULD BE SATISFIED?!”

Skywarp’s voice rang from the walls like a dying accusation as the room fel deathly silent.

“…So what will you do.”, asked Starscream quietly, wings twitching, “Are you going to break our trine, then?”

“You broke it ages ago for a war that took a wrong turn once civilian casualties started coming in.”, spat Skywarp, “You broke our trine the day we watched Vos fall.”

Thundercracker merely watched, something on his face that looked like heartbreak mixed with anger as Skywarp took a step forward- dark servos curled into fists and optics like old lava flows.

“So I’ll challenge you. For leadership of this trine.”

Starscream put a hand to his own chestplate in cold shock, “Would you.”

“Yes.”

“…You realize I may kill you if you lose.”

“That didn’t stop you from murdering me outright with heartbreak before. Why should it be any more difficult a second time.”, asked Skywarp with a dead flatness to his voice that spoke of last words and lifelong curses.

Starscream felt his spark drop as Skywarp seemed to look through him-

The ghost of promises broken.


	87. Untitled Winglock Request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VIISIVARVASLAISKIAINEN asked: Winglock and “All I want is your lips against mine right now.” (Deadlock saying that.) Dayum, I'm boring. :'D

_“I just don’t know what they all want from me.”_

Wing buried his face against Deadlock’s chestplate, making a distressed noise until the ex-Con moved a hand to stroke a sore backstrut.

“Between Axe’s paranoia and Dai Atlas’s nagging I’m centimeters from kicking one of them in the panels, Lock. RIGHT in the panels! Full force!”

Deadlock snorted, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “A bullet would be more effective.” before he massaged under Wing’s namesake. The flier huffed softly, shifting his frame to settle more comfortably on top of his lover, listening to the sounds of Deadlock’s idling systems and letting ruffled plating slowly calm.

“I’m just waiting for someone else to drop all of their needs and expectations on me; probably in the guise of a request- or worse, a favor.”

Deadlock nudged him before speaking, “Well I got a request.”

Wing looked up at him, expression deadpan.

“Don’ worry, it’s easy.”, said the ex-Con with a grin.

“What is it.”

“All I want is your lips against mine right now.” 

Wing paused, optics flickering like a confused blink before he snorted himself into laughter.

“Well, I suppose if you _insist…”_


	88. Welcoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: "Can you come over so I don't feel so alone anymore?" Dratchet or Driftpercy

_“If you’ve nothing better to do, you’re welcome to keep me company. I-If you’d like?”_

Drift hummed to himself as he easily tapped the passcode into the lab’s keypad, calling out “Percy, you about?”

A yelp and a swear and a clattering.

Drift snorted, knowing that University lilt anywhere. He walked into the main area of the lab, setting two cubes on the counter before moving to the lines of shelves heavy with supplies and peering down the first few before finding what he was looking for.

Perceptor, on his aft, rubbing the side of his helm and glaring at the stepladder who’s bolts had given way- one rung had given out and sent the scientist tumbling to the ground.

“I’d give you a ten, but I don’t think you stuck the landing Percy.”

“Oh no, my gold medal performance is ruined.”, was the dryly delivered answer, “Do help me up would you? I think I twisted something in that fall.”

Drift snickered, he couldn’t help it- He offered a hand for Perceptor to take. With a weary smile of thanks, Perceptor accepted and let Drift haul him to his pedes. 

Perceptor winced, testing how much weight one ankle could take before shaking his helm.

“Gyro systems help with everything but faulty ladders, huh?”

“Sometimes not even that, honestly. That’s the fifth spill off the bloody thing in a week.”

“Have you considered maybe Not using that ladder then?”, asked Drift in amusement.

“Brainstorm blew up the other two.”

“Wh-”

“Please do not ask.”

Drift shook his helm, laughing into his hand now. Perceptor watched with his deadpan expression before Drift was able to gather himself enough to speak again, “So I grabbed cubes for us- I have the feeling you’ve been in here most of the day again.”

“You would guess correctly.”

“You REALLY need to get out more, Percy.”

“SOMEONE has to keep this spacetravel catastrophe running.”

Their shared laughter was as easy as it had ever been, even as Drift offered a shoulder for Perceptor to lean against. It was almost as though nothing had changed between them, even if everything had.

Perceptor let his smile show as Drift cracked open the cubes on the counter once the scientist had taken a seat. Yes, many things had changed between them…

But, at least this hadn’t.

He would take friendship over loneliness.


	89. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> METEORFEST asked: “I’ve made so many mistakes, but you’re not one of them.” with rodriftceptor pls i beg you

_I don’t want to be **tied**_   
_To **anyone’s** strings_   
_I’m carefully **trying** to steer clear_   
_Of **those** things_

He didn’t understand why they were here- at the end of things. Here, on a reclaimed ship, each curled around him like he was something precious; something needing protection.

Wanted.

Needed.

Loved.

And his systems glitched as the tears came as he stared at the ceiling, clutching at the wreckers on either side of him.

“R’dim’s?”, mumbled Perceptor as he groggily came out of recharge, “Rodimus, what’s wrong, what happened love?”

Drift murred quietly, slitting his optics open before cuddling closer to Rodimus and nuzzling at the speedster’s chin.

“Why?”, croaked the newly reinstated cocaptain, “Why are you… still here why?”

“What d’you mean?”, mumbled Drift.

“I messed up… I messed up so badly. I almost got you both killed, or worse.”, rasped Rodimus, “Why are you still here, why would you want to be?”

Both wreckers leaned up on one elbow, worried optics looking down to Rodimus.

_“Why would you want to stay with a mistake like me?”_

There was silence, and Rodimus’s vents hitched. Here it was, here was the moment they realized they didn’t want to be here- have to be here. Need to be with him. He tried desperately to brace himself before Perceptor shook his helm; a tired smile spreading over his faceplates before he leaned down to kiss the fretful captain with a special kind of tenderness.

There was no pity flavoring the contact, no resentment. 

Perceptor’s kisses always tasted like forgiveness and felt like absolution. Drift chuckled and settled beside the speedster again as Perceptor pulled away to do the same.

“Roddy, if anyone here has made mistakes… its us.”, said Drift with a soft yawn and an arm draped over Rodimus’s chestplate.

“We have made many, many mistakes, spitfire.”, said Perceptor, his arm resting over Rodimus’s abdomen, “But _**you**_ are definitely not one of them.”

Drift kissed Rodimus’s cheek, “If anything, you’re the best decision we’ve ever made.”

“Rest, love.”, murmured Perceptor as Rodimus turned his helm to hide his face against Perceptor’s throat, “The world can turn without you tonight.”


	90. Static

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: “ when we come out i’m going to drown you kisses every day ” With CyGate pblease

“If we make it out of this, I’m gonna smother you in kisses.”, said Tailgate softly, curled against Cyclonus’s chest.

“Oh?”, he rumbled, “How so, little one?”

Tailgate let his faceplate click away, showing a smoothly closed portion of his plating. The tiny intake was closed off, the microseams looking like the absent doodles of stars in the corners of daydreamer’s margins.

He wriggled to sit up on his knees, Cyclonus looking down with lazy half-lit optics and tilting his helm.

Tailgate giggled, the sound like silverbound windchimes in a spring breeze, and leaned up to let a tiny taste of static flicker against Cyclonus’s nose.

The minibot laughed at Cyclonus’s surprised expression, the softness of it against the stark angles of Cyclonus’s face- a laugh that turned to a chittered giggle as Cyclonus’s arms went tightly around a white waist to squeeze the minibot in a warm embrace.

“I would happily drown in such kisses.”, murmured Cyclonus, chuckling when he felt the static click against his chin like a galaxy’s flicker.


	91. Silver Lining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PIIPAW asked: Could I get First Aid and Ambulon with "no one will notice if we hold hands under the table" OR pre-MTMTE/LSotW Pharma and Ratchet with "do you think we’ll ever… be a couple-couple ?"

Ambulon wasn’t one for PDA. He was not one to kiss in the halls, to twirl his lover into his arms in view of his supervisor. He was, to most, the furthest from a romance-novel love interest that anyone could get.

But.

First Aid knew- knew there was more to the stormcloud of a medic than first met the eye.

Ambulon was not one for PDA- but alone, in their habsuite; he was gentle touches and whispered words inaudials. He was praise wrapped in silk and flavored like fine wine and he was so very warm.

He was not one to kiss in the halls with sly smiles but when it was just them, when they were alone in the medibay or doing the last walkabout through lines of silent mediberths he would take First Aid’s hand in his own and kiss the knuckles as though First Aid were made of marble and porcelain and all things bright and deified.

Ambulon was not one to be public with his love, but when he sat beside First Aid during the morning assignments he would reach for the tired medic’s hand and hold it in his own scuffed one and squeeze softly.

Because no one will notice when you hold hands under the table.


	92. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: “ if anyone sees us i won’t know what to do. ” Deadlock & Perceptor or “ no one will notice if we hold hands under the table ~ ” Ratchet & Perceptor

_He had the answers to every question; every question, even the ones you were afraid to ask._

No one questioned why Deadlock took shore leave- most assumed he was finding entertainment that wasn’t getting under Starscream’s plating, or badgering Soundwave, or making Megatron look like he was suffering from acute acid reflux.

No one questioned where he went.

Or… who he saw.

Perceptor was uptight, sour, and ice cold- according to those ranked under him. Eternally focused on propriety and perfection, lauded by Xaaron and many other higher ups, and a favorite of the Ethics Committee due to his “handling” of scientists like Brainstorm, or Ironfist.

So no one questioned why he took leave as soon as he was able. They theorized, they pondered, to be sure- but no one questioned it. They simply thanked whatever God they believed in that they wouldn’t have to be worried about a lecture for being half a minute late for a few cycles.

So no one questioned where he went-

Or where he was staying.

And it’s Deadlock who gets them quarters in a lavish hotel, and it’s Perceptor who carefully disguises his paintscheme long enough to traverse to the location commed over a secure private line.

But it’s Perceptor who touches first, always- And Deadlock leans into undamaged scientist’s hands and turns his helm to kiss palms unscarred by war and and death.

And it’s Deadlock who watches as Perceptor stands at the wide window; Deadlock who wishes he could creep up behind the scientist to wrap his arms around a slim waist like lovers do- but….

If they were seen; if they were noticed, he…

“No one can see us this high up.”, said Perceptor softly, sipping the glass of highgrade held in an aristocratic hand, “And no one would care to look up at us, even if they could.”

“Are you-”

“I’m certain, Deadlock.”, said Perceptor, looking over his shoulder with optics too gentle for Deadlock to stare into, “I promise.”

And Deadlock gave in to softer feelings and tender touches to press against Perceptor’s back and wrap his arms around the scientist’s waist and drink down the feeling of slim servos stroking over his forearm’s armor.

And then, the war separated them.

And then, they forgot those rendezvous.

And then, eons and a split-second decision later; Deadlock is now Drift. And the CR chamber is open and Perceptor is trembling in his arms again and Drift pulls him close and leads him away and away back to an empty hab-suite decorated with little memories-

Memories like a crystal glass, used for highgrade in old lover’s meetings.

“D-Drift, what.”, coughs Perceptor, “What if- If someone sees you leaving my hab I-”

“No one will see us, Percy.”, says Drift, his voice burning in his intake as he shuts down his vocmod and hold Percy close, there on the floor in the middle of the hab.

“No one would care to look, even if they could.”

And Perceptor is curling against him, breathing his apologies for being afraid to assume and Drift holds him closer than he ever had; closer than back when he was afraid to touch.


	93. Stay With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Won’t you stay with me?  
> Cause you’re all I need.  
> This ain’t love, it’s clear to see  
> But won’t you stay with me?

_Ratchet has always been the best at lying to himself._

He remembered telling himself that he wouldn’t fall in love, couldn’t fall in love-

But he’d always been good at lying to himself.

A soft yawn in the early morning made him unshutter his optics lazily; pulling Perceptor that much closer.

“Mm. Morning.”, hummed the ex-Wrecker, optics dim as he squirmed onto his other side to nuzzle under Ratchet’s chin with a sigh, “Did you rest well?”

“Better’n I have in years, Percy.”, chuckled the CMO, letting his systems idle comfortably as his servos traced meaningless patterns over Perceptor’s backplates until the sniper snickered aloud- putting war-scuffed hands against Ratchet’s chestplate and nudging him with a leg.

“That tickles, old mech.”

“Aaaaw, big tough Wrecker is ticklish, hm?”, said Ratchet with a grin on his sleepy face.

“Don’t you do it, Ratch.”

“Do what, this?”

And Ratchet’s hands moved to gently dig servos into transformation seams, making Perceptor crow and cackle and squirm and try to wriggle away from the playful medic- which only resulted in Ratchet grabbing Perceptor’s hips and pulling him back.

Perceptor looked better smiling. Ratchet leaned to press his chevron to Perceptor’s forehead, and felt his spark melt as Perceptor’s smile grew shy and loving and soft like he remembered it always being.

“Your cute when you smile.”

“Flatterer.”

Ratchet laughed before moving to kiss his still-dozy lover as the light of old galaxies drifted over them like a morning sunrise and Perceptor’s hands moved to Ratchet’s cheeks.

They broke apart slowly, still sharing breath-

“I love you.”, murmured Perceptor.

“I love you most.”, Ratceht answered, his voice low and rasped by sleep but more honest than he had ever heard it.

And again…

Perceptor smiled.


	94. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HUBSCHRAUBERS asked: I didn't see the prompt post until now but oh well, here we go: “ ~ sit back and let me spoil you… you went an entire day without touching me… ” with BlitzMegs please?

_And I; I love it when you give me **things.**  
And you; you ought to give me  **wedding**  rings._

_He had expected sultry glances, devious touches and pleas to hear his voice croon all those things that lovers do-_

_But not this._

When Blitzwing had crooned in his audial to “let me spoil you”, Megatron had expected the usual. He had expected Blitzwing to spirit him away to their berth, to feel arctic kisses against war-roughened plating and to feel servos stroking over microseams and tired joints-

But this was… far superior.

The hab was dim and quiet, the holoscreen’s volume low and comforting. Blitzwing was pressed against his side, stifling his chuckles at the antics they watched and Megatron felt his optics slowly half-shutter in the calmness.

“Jou look tired, Megatron.”

“Hm? No, just… comfortable.”

Blitzwing snorted, “Ja, comfortable enough to recharge.”

“I-”

“Ah, I said to let me spoil you.”, said Blitzwing, a finger over Megatron’s lipplates, “And I stand by z’hat. If jou are tired, z’hen sleep, lover. I’ll be here when jou wake up.”

Megatron looked down at Blitzwing as the triplechanger nuzzled against his chestplate, resting his helm on the cool steel… And he settled back, letting his optics go dim and slowly close.

The room was quiet and comfortable and the holoscreen hummed in the background. Megatron heard Blitzwing’s soft yawn, felt an arm drape over a dark waist.

His hand moved to lace his and Blitzwing’s servos together, making the northern mech hum low in his chest and sigh in a way that sounded so happy it was hard to believe.

The vid on the holoscreen was winding down, along with their systems, in the dim hab and they fell asleep- curled together as their engines rumbled in unison- 

Megatron wondered if this is what true peace felt like; as Blitzwing’s sleep-thickened voice purred our an “I love you” masked in the thick accent of his home.

* * *

    


	95. Bad Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> APOCALYPSE-ON-LEGS asked: ❛ you’re a weapon and weapons don’t weep. ❜ with my boy BStorm please?

_Go tell Aunt Rhody  
That Everybody’s  **D e a d**_

_**=================================** _

_‘You are a weapon, and weapons do not weep.’, echoed in Brainstorm’s processor as the panic overtook him. His weapon had failed, power bleeding from its inefficient cell and it’s ammunition useless without a catalyst.  
_

_And there were hordes before and behind him._

_His batchmates were dead all around him, their wings and limbs torn and broken and their optics cracked and shattered from the heat of war and Brainstorm felt himself freezing over._

_His wings clicked into place._

_He screwed his optics shut while he screwed the last of his fortitude to a sticking place and thrusters kicked into action._

_And he rocketed away, higher and higher as coolant dripped down cheekcables into his howling mouth and-_

“Brainstorm!”

The scientist jerked away with a gasp, optics wild and unfocused and fear coursing in his lines like life itself as Perceptor gently wrapped black servos around Brainstorm’s upper arms to steady him.

“Brainstorm, you were having a nightmare.”, he spoke in a monotone that was more comforting than pity, or worse, prayer-

“You are in the lab, on the Lost Light. No one is dying. No one is shooting. You are safe.”

Brainstorm nodded weakly, leaning forward to rest his helm against Perceptor’s shoulder and they sat in the safety of silence.


	96. Crashlanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: "No Airbag, WE DIE LIKE MEN" maybe Ironhide??

“NO AIRBAGS?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO AIRBAGS?!”, yowled Ratchet, arms akimbo as the shuttle rattled under heavy fire once again.

“NO AIRBAGS MEANS NO AIRBOGS, DOC.”, yelled Ironhide from the pilot’s seat, “IT MEANS NO AIRBAGS, WE DIE LIKE MECHS!”

“IF WE DIE I SWEAR I’LL KILL YOU!”, snarled Sideswipe as he braced against his seat, Sunstreaker laughing somewhere between hysterics and genuine black-humored amusement.

“At least we die lookin’ pretty bro!”

“SUNNY YOU ARE NOT HELPING-”

“BRACE YOURSELVES WE’RE COMIN’ IN HOT!”

The last thing any of them remembered was how many swearwords Ratchet really knew. The process of awakening was one full of bumps, bruises, and strut deep soreness and was a venture taken first by none other than Ironhide himself.

“At least my nurse is perty.”

Ratchet looked at him, chevron bent and white paint scuffed and dirtied as the shuttle billowed smoke behind them.

“Shut the hell up.”

Ironhide laughed, the sound harmonizing with the groans of pain from both twins.


	97. Bad Moon, Blood Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: "I feel divinity in my bones like aching. Like fire." & Rodimus

Rodimus flexed his fingers, letting them heat slowly like his mounting anger.

There was something holy in him like this. Something purifying. Something divine.

Something like the wrath of God and Creation.

The fire started in small spirals- dancing over the deep colors decorating his frame like a priestly mantle and the fires built and they built- burning him from the inside out.

They began to consume him, as they once consumed Nyon, as they once fed off the lives of Cybertron so greedy and hungry and unfulfilled. His smile was a slashed wound on his face- manic and starving and pure; and his steps left behind soot and scorchmarks on the floor of the Lost Light’s shuttlebay.

“Orders?”, asked Drift quietly.

“Kill them all.”, rasped the Captain as he was born anew in hellfire forges, “I want every last mutineer dead and hung from the hull.”

“The ones kept belowdecks, and in the labs?”

“Free them. Arm them. Shut down the commlines out and unleash hell.”, said Rodimus, his voice more growl than command, “I want helms. But…”

“But?”

“I want Getaway brought to me alive.”, said Rodimus softly, a croon of nightmares yet to come, “I want him brought to me as a sacrifice to his own stupidity.”

“As you command, Captain.”

The moons they passed by were red as fire, red as organic blood and brighter than charged energon and their light bathed Rodimus through the heavy clear shuttlebay exit doors- accented by the flashing sparks as Brainstorm welded 


	98. The Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS asked: "What do you do when there's no hero in the story? Simple. You kill the monster and crown yourself." with Tarn, mayhaps?

_And its not a sin if it don’t make me cry_  
_He’s not the devil less there’s fire in his eye_  
 _It ain’t the ghost if it don’t speak in tongue_  
 _It ain’t a victory till the battles been won_  

He was not God, though you followed him.

He was not the Messiah, though you watched his crucifixion.

He was not Peter, He was not Paul. He was not Luke, nor Matthew, nor a blind King writing psalms by candlelight.

He was your Judas. He was your Lucifer. He was the devil in grey plating and he had tempted you. And at your peak, he had left you behind and pointed you out for thirty words of silver, thirty pieces of propagandic evidence.

An easy payment for a traitor most dear, and you vanished from the target lines.

And you looked at the other members of the DJD, and you knew your path. And you looked at your four apostles and your Mother Mary full of Grace and you knew where you belonged int his story- in this grand design.

And you placed a crown of thorns upon your head and slashed your own stigmata and crowned yourself the new Holiest of Holies-

And in your own name, you burned sacrifices on an altar made of revenge.


	99. Cornered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PHASESIXES asked: "we all eat lies when our hearts are hungry" with porcy?? ❤❤❤

_I drank the blood of angels from a bottle_   
_Just to see if I could call the lightning down_   
_It hasn’t struck me yet_   
_And I would wage my soul to bet_   
_That there ain’t no one throwing lightning anyhow_

Getaway spoke with grandeur, he postured with practice.

And Perceptor’s optics bored holes in the Liar’s plating. The scientist’s smile was like ice, spoke of murder, ground down on Getaway’s facade like a sandblaster.

And Perceptor was thriving. He fed on the fear of the crewmembers around him, fed on their unease when they looked from his face to his hands and back again with terrified understanding of what he was capable of.

The lies that were fed to them, the words that once filled their hearts- were no longer so sustaining. Not with a quiet Devil in their midst. Not with a silent sentinel of ice cold apathy stalking the halls to appear at your lowest.

Perceptor laughed as Getaway finished, his claps sarcastic and slow and he watched Getaway avoid his optics and hustle away.

Perceptor liked to think that the Mutineer Captain’s hand were shaking as though Death loomed over him.

Amused, the scientists tilted his helm and smiled to himself.

Perhaps such a metaphor wasn’t so far off.

His reticule flickered, and he snickered.


	100. Vindictive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RAVYNFYRE asked: "Never trust a survivor until you learn what they did to stay alive." With Percy, please?

_There ain’t no water in this world  
Could turn me back into an innocent man _

Perceptor drank alone, as usual-

And then one by one… crewmembers filtered in. He sipped at his cocktail, mixed by his own hands because he trusted no one. And then Blaster slung an arm over his shoulders.

“Percy here though, m’mech right here couldn’t hurt nobody. Ain’t that right sweetspark.”

“You watched me oneshot a combiner, Blaster.”

Blaster was quiet for a moent, “Yeah, true- but ya had to! Cos ya felt all friendly towards us Wreckers. It’s in yer sweet nature, Perce. I know ya.”

“I’d kill you all to save myself.”, said Perceptor bluntly.

“You don’t mean that.”

Perceptor reached down, pulling a pistol from his thigh compartment, “I’ll kill one of you now to make you all let me be.”

Silence.

“No you won’t.”, rumbled a voice- Atomizer.

Perceptor pointed the pistol, sipping his drink as he pulled the trigger and heard Atomizer howl in pain. The mech held his abdomen, coughing energon as the rest of the bar clattered to help him and stare at the usually quiet scientist.

Blaster took slow steps away from Perceptor as the sniper turned slightly to glance at the communications mech A cold smile bloomed on his faceplates like a funeral wreath, and he laughed with no mirth in it.

“I wasn’t kidding, Blaster. There’s no love lost ‘twixt us- nor between me and the rest of this joke of a crew. I’d kill each one of you for sport if given the chance. Now get that fucking waste of space to a medibay, and send Getaway to me. He and I must have a conversation about who is and is not allowed within my personal space.”

Blaster’s mouth opened and closed uselessly as Perceptor’s expression went frigid.

“NOW, Blaster. Before I change my fitful and finicky mind about the matter.”


	101. Bounty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GLITCHING-KUUKELI asked: "what doesn’t kill me better run", "they broke my wings. they forgot I have claws", "you make me feel and I don’t like it. I want it to stop. now" OR "I’m tired of fighting. for once, I want to be fought for" (TAKE YOUR PICK BECAUSE I COULDN'T) and our favorite boi, Deadlock. ( / u\\)

_I’m made of_ **dead**  man’s money   
You can see it in my  **smile**  


 

_Gasket falls in slow motion, and Drift’s lines go cold._

_Enforcers laugh as Gasket goes still._

They turn to him next, hands at their weapons and ask him what they should do next.

And fire, straight pure fire, is running through Drift as his fangs are bared and his optics heat unto burning. And he breaks the grip on his wrists and snarls “Run. Fast.”

And delivering Death feels so good, so right- He understands why the drugs do it. And when they hire him on, he accepts. And when they run from him in fear, in terror, he thrives.

And then the Devil offers his hand, offers a new name… and he is smiling.

And Drift becomes Deadlock. And his fangs grow sharper, and his claws grow longer. And his shadow is a virus, it is tendrils of rot extending from each of his steps as his laugh morphs into a booming deathknell.

His name is drenched in life and matted by black powder and shrapnel- he is wild, and untamed in ways he never thought possible. He stands at Megatron’s right hand beneath the heavy title of General that he wears like the Reaper’s cowl, his weapons feel like the scales of Justice weighing hearts and minds and morals and finding all those in power guilty of treason. 

The first time he takes an Autobrand feels like victory.

He walks into headquarters and straight to his leader- he displays the brands like a pokerhand with a smile like a crescent moon. 

In his spare time, he takes bounties. He knows there are some who glare at his back- like Lockdown, who slams his hook and shears the wall as Deadlock strolls by with a thundercrack cackle- and even though removing a helm is messy work, it’s worth the credits.

With his hands soaked in life and his reputation cloaked in death; Deadlock has never felt more powerful.


End file.
